Laurelin Vo'Shai-- Dragon Hunter--Book II
by Pyreiris
Summary: Laurelin never asked for any of this Dragonborn nonsense. Her life has been tipped upside down and is forever altered. She continues her journey, accepting her role as Dovahkiin- Dragon Hunter- with the help of her beloved mate and closest friends. Becoming Harbinger of the Companions was only a beginning, and now the stakes are raised, for the World Eater threatens all.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One -Kilkreath Temple**

Laurelin and Vilkas hiked up the steep slope, eyes on the imposing stone temple ahead. Huge flakes of snow drifted down, catching in the fur lining of their hoods. They scouted around and found steps leading to the top of the building, where a tall statue depicting Meridia with her arms stretched toward the sky waited. Laure tugged the glossy-white beacon out of her pack and, with a glance to her lover, set it carefully in the cradle at the statue's feet.

Before she could cry out, or Vilkas react, she was encompassed by blinding light and found herself what looked like miles over the land of Skyrim, suspended by nothing but the light. Before she had much time to marvel over this phenomenon however, the demanding voice of the daedra once again commanded her attention. A marvelous, shining orb of light floated before her, crying out, _"Look at my temple, lying in ruins. So much for the constancy of mortals, their crafts and their hearts. If they love me not, how can my love reach them?"_

Laure inadvertently glanced down and felt her stomach lurch and her vision swim a little. Being able to see entire mountain ranges from above was just a trifle disconcerting. She jerked her gaze back up to the ball of light that was Meridia's true form, squinting against the brightness that threatened to blind her.

_"It is time for my splendor to return to Skyrim. But the token of my truth lies buried in the ruins of my once-great temple, now tainted by a profane darkness skittering within. The Necromancer Malkoran defiles my shrine with vile corruptions, trapping lost souls left in the wake of this war to do his bidding. Worse still, he uses the power stored within my own token to fuel his foul deeds. I have brought you here, mortal, to be my champion. You will enter my temple, retrieve my artifact, and destroy the defiler. Guide my light through the temple to open the inner sanctum and destroy the defiler." _

Awed, despite herself, Laurelin found herself asking in a small voice, "What must I do?"

_"Malkoran has forced the doors shut. But this is my temple, and it responds to my decree. I will send down a ray of light. Guide this light through my temple and its doors will open."_

Laurelin found herself drifting down again, relieved the daedra had decided to let her down gently. She held no illusions in regards to surviving such a fall. She could see Vilkas' tiny form pacing the perimeter of the temple top, then her vision fogged over as she approached the statue below. When she blinked the fog away, Vilkas was leaning over her, a worried, angry expression on his face.

"By Ysmr! What happened to you? All of a sudden you were gone in a flash of light! It's been hours! Are you well?" His silver eyes raked over her, looking for injuries but found none. Convinced she was unharmed, he grunted and helped her sit up finally.

"Meridia took me high over Skyrim and gave me a further quest. She wants this temple cleared out, apparently it's been defiled by undead and a necromancer. It was amazing, Vilkas! I was terrified, it was so high, but I could see the entire country up there. It was breathtaking!" She paused, then gulped a breath down in excitement. "I want to clean her temple out. I don't hate much of anything, but I _hate_ undead and necromancers. You with me?"

"Ha! What are we waiting for?" He bowed and waited for her to skip by before following her down to the entrance of the temple. Stopping briefly before entering they shook hands like siblings, then Laurelin leaned in, nibbled his lower lip, and brushed his nose with hers, smiling. Vilkas let his hands rest on her hips a moment, inwardly wishing their armor wasn't such a barrier, and kissed her back, hungrily. "Right! Temple, undead, necromancers. Let's do this, so we can get back someplace where I can get you out of your armor." He smacked her steel-covered arse and shoved the door open.

"I like where this is headed!" Laure remarked as she crept though, readying her bow and arrow.

* * *

Inside, a dark fog seethed through the halls and chambers, making it even more difficult to see, even with the better night vision granted to them by the beast blood. Laurelin had been expecting draugr, so when part of the darkness detached itself from the shadows and stalked away from her, she fired her arrow with out thinking, taking the drifting thing of shadows in the back, hurling it back into the darkness. Strange rattling sounds accompanied the arrival of two more of these shades as they noticed the noisy demise of one of their number.

Laure fired off two more shots, one connecting, the second soaring over the charging creature's shoulder into the darkness. She cursed softly and drew her cherished Nightingale blade and steel dagger. Dropping to the sides of the charging shades, she and Vilkas waited and struck nearly simultaneously, cautiously looking for openings, not sure how effective their weapons would be against these foes. As it turned out, they were more than effective. With nothing more than a stinging slice to the leg, Laure and Vilkas easily cut the remaining two down.

Laure patched the gash up with a touch of her healing magic, and they proceeded. Guiding the light through the temple was simple. Find the little pedestal, activate it, and under no circumstances allow the beam of light to touch you! Curious, she had let her fingers drift too near and had them blistered for her interest.

Where the ray of light went, the dark fog rolled back, revealing many corpses, burned and defiled, laying where they had been tossed rudely. Laure went through the pockets of the first one they encountered, finding a fair amount of gold, and some Imperial army supply orders. The next proved to be a Nord bandit. The next was a woman, probably a Nord, but the desecration to her body had been complete and her features were too rotted to tell truly.

Laure and Vilkas proceeded, feeling a familiar rage growing in their hearts. There was nothing in the world that could justify this. It was that simple. The dead deserved to stay that way, not have their souls compromised by some power hungry, irresponsible person with no conscience. They crept through chamber after chamber, purposefully slaying shades, guiding the light through Meridia's temple. At one point, they were surprised to find themselves outside on a high shelf, the light leading them on across a narrow bridge. Night had fallen, all the world was hushed by the heavy snow falling up high in the mountains.

"Let's just see where this goes, and then we could rest a while?" Laure asked, pointing across the chasm, where the lights illuminated the flurries of snow. Vilkas shrugged and nodded, readjusting the straps of his cuirass. They carefully made their way across the slippery stone span, and found a large, heavily locked chest nestled in the rocks.

Vilkas caught the longing look on her face as she looked it over and snorted. "Open it if you can; it looks like we can take shelter up there in the overhang when your done." His gaze flitted out into the storm briefly; however, there was nothing to see but the glare of light on the fat, swirling flakes.

Laure slid her pack off, delving into its depths an instant before coming out with a hand full of lockpicks. Popping the extras between her teeth, she hunkered down and removed her gauntlets, began feeling the lock, testing, wiggling, listening intently, until it opened. She slid the remaining picks back into her pack and lifted the lid. Inside was a gleaming, glass greatsword, it's edges honed to translucent, keen sharpness.

Laure lifted it out, sighting down the frighteningly sharp blade, feeling the solid weight and fine balance. "How would you like a glass sword, love?" she breathed in admiration.

"It is beautiful. I would be glad to bear it, if you don't want it for yourself."

"No, if it was meant for me, it would have been smaller. Or a bow. I think you should have this!" Vilkas accepted it with a smile, his eyes caressing it with the tenderness a lover would. He turned it this way and that, seeing the shifting colors refracting the light of Meridia back to him.

They took cover and rested awhile outside, cuddled close together while they ate. The snow let off a little later, and even the soft hiss of falling flakes dimmed until it was so quiet the two warriors felt completely alone in the world, peacefully isolated from the bustle of day to day life. Snuggled back into Vilkas' warmth, Laure was content. Although she grumbled about daedra interfering with her life, any mission that involved bringing a little more light and love into the world had her whole-hearted approval.

Eventually, they disentangled themselves and moved back inside. Vilkas was able to test his new blade again and again as they scoured the temple of its undead, unclean occupants. With much circling, backtracking, leaping and several confused "where do we go now?" moments, they guided the light through the dark passages and halls, revealing the sad, broken state of ancient site.

The smell of corruption grew as they advanced, and before long, they were standing before a portal that had the strongest stench yet leaking past the frame. Vilkas was sweating, his dark hair plastered to his face, but his eyes were alight with passion and excitement. He disregarded the handful of cuts and scrapes he had; his armor had deflected the most worrisome blows regardless.

Laure looked and felt much the same. She wiped an oozing nick to her upper lip, then pounced Vilkas, wrapping her legs around his waist, nearly bowling him over. He caught his balance and wrapped his strong arms around her, crushing his lips to hers. Fingers tight on her hips, he let his tongue tease her lips open, tasting the blood of her cut. She whined softly and then pushed herself off him again, a fierce look in her eye as she pushed the door open and leaped straight in. With a cry of **"Yol!"** leading before her, she took the two nearest foes completely by surprise, dispersing them in a gout of scarlet fire. Vilkas followed an instant behind, ready to cut down anyone foolish enough to attack his mate.

As she weaved and darted about, Laurelin summoned a flame atronach and then drew her dagger. A painfully cold blast of something smashed into her shoulder as she ducked behind a pillar, and chilly laughter taunted from somewhere nearby. Laure glanced down to see her entire left shoulder encased in crystalline frost. She quickly gulped down a potion, and felt movement return to her arm. Vilkas was battling two shades, the atronach was firing bolts of flame at another, and she couldn't see the necromancer or the other shades she knew were about.

"Watch out for the necromancer love, he'll freeze your arse!" she called out to Vilkas.

"Duly noted, thank you," he grunted, blocking a heavy blow from one foe, ducking another.

Calling on her long-unused Nightingale abilities, Laure became invisible and slipped around the pillar.

Malkoran was edging his way behind Vilkas, who had taken one of the two shades down, but another moved in to fill the space left. The atronach expired a moment later, and Laure used the confusion of it's explosive demise to creep behind Vilkas. Malkoran leveled a staff at her mate, and a blast of icy crystals rolled out to take him in the side.

Slowed, cursing, Vilkas backed away, fighting the numbing pain as his armor froze solid. His blocks and parries were slower, and the shades pressed forward eagerly. Malkoran hastened forward, glancing about for the mer but not seeing her, focused on the male instead.

Laurelin slipped up behind the necromancer, pure rage burning in her pale eyes. Before he could blast Vilkas again with his staff, she punched her dagger through his robes into his kidney. The man staggered forward, dropping the staff, clutching at his side. Laure whirled about, made visible by her attack, and sliced with her sword, neatly severing his head. With a gasp of triumph, she went to help Vilkas finish the last shade.

Before she could take a step though, hissing laughter echoed through the chamber, and another shade rose up from the corpse of Malkoran. It immediately lashed out at Laurelin, catching her by surprise. She fell back, cursing, biting back the Voice that rose within her, Vilkas was too close for her to risk using it.

With a roar, he finished the last shade, ignoring the hoarfrost still hindering his movement, then charged past his mate, sword flashing wicked green light as he went. She recovered a moment later and moved in, flanking the snarling shade as it darted here and there, striking whoever was closest, taking blows with hissing curses and threats.

Malkoran's shade was tougher than any of the others, its glowing eyes leering at them as he promised painful servitude to the two who had upset his plans. These two, however, settled into a rhythm of strikes and blocks, coordinated to keep their foe uncertain, off balance, and always looking the wrong way. They circled Malkoran relentlessly, weaving around, whittling the shade down, until with a shout, Vilkas leaped in while it's attention was on Laurelin and swept his green blade clean through, dispersing the shade like dust.

Laurelin and Vilkas waited, swords still raised, but no more unclean spirits rose to threaten them. Instead, the light of Meridia seemed to swell and encompass the whole room, and _her_ voice filled the chamber, resonating off the stones.

_"It is done. The defiler is defeated. Take Dawnbreaker from its pedestal."_ Laure glanced around, and there, amongst the piles of defiled corpses, was another pedestal, this one with a sword embedded in it. She approached cautiously, eying the haft of the sword while sheathing her own.

"Well, are you taking the sword?" Vilkas asked his lover, his own still out, point up, over his shoulder.

"Should I?" He nodded, alert but confident. She wiped her hands on her wolf fur skirt and reached out, wrapping her long fingers around the warm grip and tugging gently. Dawnbreaker slid free with a quiet hiss and suddenly glowed radiantly. She raised the luminous blade up and whistled. Vilkas echoed this with an approving murmur of appreciation. It was beautiful, warm tendrils of light swirling about the circular crossguard. Laure met Vilkas' bright eyes over the leveled blade, about to ask a question, when she abruptly found herself high above Skyrim once again, Meridia hovering before her.

_"Malkoran is vanquished. Skyrim's dead shall remain at rest. This is as it should be. This is because of you. A new day is dawning, and you shall be its herald. Take the mighty Dawnbreaker and with it purge corruption from the dark corners of the world. Wield it in my name, that my influence may grow."_

Laure looked at the stunning blade in her hands, weighing it carefully. "I can wield your blade, and do so with honor, but I won't sign up for your religion. I am already involved with two of your fellows."

_"You need not swear an oath to serve my needs. By taking my token out into the world and using it to cleanse the filth of the undead, you bring my light, my love to the world. I do not seek a priest. I need a warrior to carry the truth of my light."_

"I am a creature of shadow, are you certain you would have a thief carry your holy artifact?"

_"Indeed, you are a creature of shadow. Think you all my agents are entirely pure beings of light? No, mortals are much more complex than that. So many shades of light and dark, like you. I see the influence of my sister and brother in your actions. It pleases me bring a balance to the dark of Nocturnal, and the instinct of Hircine. Perhaps my token will aid you in the darkness before you."_

Bowing her head, understanding the wisdom of this, Laurelin accepted the sword, vowing, "I will carry this blade into battle and carry your light with me. Thank you."

_"May the light of certitude guide your efforts." _ With that, Laure was drifting back to the temple again. Her eyes roved the area beneath her, scanning for Vilkas. It looked as though she was going to be deposited right back where she had left the beacon, at the top of the temple. Her gaze skimmed over a curved stone wall at first, then flew back. There was no mistaking that style of carving. Once again, as she neared the ground, her vision fogged. She came to, and glanced around. There was no sign of Vilkas.

A frown crept over her face. It seemed to be late morning, how long she had been up there with Meridia was a mystery. Where was Vilkas? She stalked down to the entrance and found it sealed. "Fuck. Me. Sideways!" she punctuated each word with a fist to the door. Trekking around the perimeter, she found no sign that he had emerged and left, the snow still pristine, no scent guiding her. Finally, she trudged back to the front door, tried it again, and decided to head back up to the statue. She would wait up there a bit and then start looking for any sort of alternate entrance to the temple she could find.

* * *

She was pacing anxiously when his footsteps crunching through the snow reached her frozen ears. They met at the base of the steps with inarticulate cries of happiness accompanying nearly frantic hugs and kisses. They had _both_ been worried, it seemed. They were finally able to sort out what had happened, starting with Laure disappearing from the temple in a flash of light. Vilkas had found the staff Malkoran used, then neatly laid out all the bodies he encountered and gathered, rather than leave them splayed gracelessly around, then, he had slowly made his way out of the temple again, lugging their gear by himself.

Laurelin sketched in the important details of her conversation with Meridia but chose not to mention the part concerning Nocturnal. Eventually, she knew she was going to give him the whole truth, but she wasn't quite ready for that yet. Instead, she grabbed his hand and dragged him up the hill, past the temple. Off a short distance, through the trees she led him, coming upon the curved stone of the chanting Word Wall.

Vilkas watched as once again, Laurelin strode up to one of these uncomfortably charged walls and let sparking light soak into her. Standing back, keeping an eye out behind them, he listened to her muttering to herself. She shook it off shortly and turned, a weird smile on her face.

"That has to be disconcerting," she commented.

"Aye, I've seen a few of these walls in my travels, but they were always cold and dead seeming." Her raised eyebrows asked the question for her, and he answered, "Aye, I can lead you to them, or the general areas." She clapped and skimmed by him, throwing a meaningful smirk over her shoulder.

"The Winking Skeever has nice soft, _sturdy_ beds. And big bath tubs. Think we can make it back to Solitude before dark?" She skipped down the hills, jumping and bounding lightly through the drifts of snow piled under the trees. Vilkas jogged after her, somehow carrying both packs, the staff, and all the loot he had taken from the temple on the way out. Loot she had scavenged. Hoisting the packs higher, he picked up his pace; she was nearly out of sight already.

* * *

When they arrived at the Winking Skeever, it was further weighted by the white pelt of a sabre cat encountered on the road down. Laure intended to make a hood, gloves and boots from it. With a sigh, they set their packs down in a corner of the big room upstairs, the staff leaned on the wall behind the door. They requested that food and hot water for a bath be brought up with plenty of mead and wine. Relishing the warm mead, they slowly peeled and tugged each other out of their armor, running bare hands over sooty, dirty, sweaty skin as it was exposed.

Vilkas dipped his head, kissing her filthy forehead. "Still beautiful, even covered in gore and the filth of the undead."

"You just want to get me clean so I don't stink so bad," smirking as she said it.

"Aside from the undead part you smell wonderful, love. Like _victory_. Blood, sweat, winning, contentment. You do taste a little, _earthy_ though..." He dodged a playful slap, stepping out of the way as a knock at the door announced the arrival of their bath. Or food.

It was both, and they were steaming hot, delivered without delay. Vilkas tipped the boy who brought it all up in several trips, then locked the door. Sliding the bolt home, he turned and advanced on the nearly stripped mer, pulling his tunic over his head as he covered the distance between them.

* * *

Laurelin lay with her head resting on Vilkas' chest, her fingers tracing the hard planes of his stomach. Her eyes were hooded, nearly shut in contentment. When he spoke, his voice reverberated through her head pleasantly. "Where to now, lovely?"

"Have you ever heard of Jurgen Windcaller?" she asked in a muzzy voice, her normally low tone risen to a softer, higher pitch. To Vilkas, it made her sound younger, more vulnerable. His arm tightened around her lovingly.

"Aye, he was the founder of the Greybeards, many years ago. Does this have something to do with the tomb that you need to go plunder?"

"Aye, Master Arngeir wants me to bring back the horn of Jurgen Windcaller. What is it with Nords and retrieving obscure historical artifacts as initiation rites? It's simpler in Valenwood. Hunt it. Kill it. Eat it."

"I don't make up the rules, love. I just follow them. So where is it you need to go for the Horn?"

"I think it was called Ustengrave, or Ustengraff..."

Vilkas fingers tightened in her short hair, as he breathed out, "_Ustengrav_. There have been rumors lately of necromancers snooping around near there. Maybe we should go back and get a few of the whelps and maybe Farkas."

"I would prefer we just went while we are in the vicinity. After I get the Horn and take it up to the Graybeards, I will need to make a visit to Riften. I'm afraid I just don't have time to go all the way back to Whiterun and almost all the way back to Solitude before running back and climbing the Seven Thousand steps."

"You could ride a horse instead of always running everywhere."

She snorted softly."I don't know the first thing about riding horses, love. My feet carry me just fine."

"How can you not know how to ride a horse?" he exclaimed, surprised that she would not know how to ride.

"How well do horses climb trees, Vilkas?" she asked, voice still soft with sleep, but amused.

He scoffed lightly. "They don't! What has this to do with...oh. This is one of those Bosmer 'if you can't make use of it, can you eat it?' things isn't it? She nodded against his chest, eyes closed still.

"Aye love, I look at your beautiful, prized steeds and see a walking, fresh haunch of meat. Can't be helped. You can eat one, but you can't take a horse into a giant, walking tree. Well I suppose you could try, but the _droppings_ from above..." Her voice trailed off, fingers curled into the hair sprinkled across his chest.

* * *

Vilkas felt her drift off, heard the steady pulse in her temple slow, her breathing growing more relaxed. While he trailed his fingers over her shoulders, through her hair, he thought about the storm on the horizon. He could see the front of it, and it was terrifying in its enormity. He had no clues what could lurk beyond the horizon.

Frankly, he was worried. He knew the Companions were in a sticky spot, with a new Harbinger, recruitment at a nearly all-time low with most all young, able-bodied souls with a thirst for glory enlisting in one faction or another of the civil war. Furthermore, with the Harbinger also being the Dragonborn, many of her obligations would take her from his side. He could foresee long stretches where the Dragonborn would be obligated to be away, hunting and slaying dragons. To what end he could not say. Hopefully not hers.

He knew it would fall to him to carry on while she was away. While he felt strongly about his reactions after Kodlak's death, he understood she would still need his assistance in her duties. Assistance he would willingly give. He would make sure she didn't even have to ask. After all, he had spent the last few years serving the old man in much the same fashion; he was really only continuing his role as master-at-arms and the confidante and right hand man to the Harbinger. Put into perspective, he realized deep down that his own personal ambitions were irrelevant to the bigger picture. If he could fight nobly and with honor, aid the Companions, and ease Laurelin's burdens, then he would.

As he was drifting to sleep, he realized he was adjusting the list of priorities in his head. In the past, his list had been arranged with his twin at the top, then the Companions, the citizens of Whiterun, and loosely, the rest of Skyrim. Now a certain pointy-eared woman was smirking at him, mounted on Farkas' wide shoulders. Right up at the top of the list somehow. He pulled her leg up higher over his own, and hugged her tighter as he drifted off himself. Tomorrow the storm could unleash it's fury, as long as he had her with him tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

_I want to take a moment to thank those of you who are retuning to the story, and welcome newcomers! I hope you enjoy the tale, and if you do, I would love to know! I respect all constructive criticisms, but if you are just going to be a troll, well, Laurelin will set you on fire! But really, I work hard on this and welcome positive input. Thanks again! ~PyreIris_

**Chapter Two –Surprises and Negotiations**

Vilkas woke early, vaguely unpleasant dreams having kept him from sleeping later. His limbs pleasantly interlaced with Laurelin's, though, he stared at the ceiling a few moments, quietly reviewing his mental lists. Coming to a few easy decisions, he slowly untangled himself from his love, trying not to wake her. As he slid off the bed, she clutched at his shoulder, then grabbed a pillow, burying her face into it with a grumble and going back to sleep.

He pulled on a fresh tunic and trousers, then grabbed his boots to put on once outside. Shouldering his pack, he slipped out the door, boots in hand. He walked downstairs, ordered a quick breakfast, and chatted amiably with the innkeeper. His food came before he was done lacing his boots. A quarter of an hour later, he was striding toward the city gates and down the hill. With a little luck, he could conduct his business and be back in time to wake her up with breakfast.

* * *

Laurelin yawned as a heavy weight slid onto the bed with her, accompanied by the delicious scent of food near her nose. Stomach growling immediately, she palmed the sleep from her eyes as she stretched languorously in the silky-smooth sheets.

"Morning, love. Here, I brought you something to break your fast," _His_ voice said softly. She rolled over finally and pushed herself up on her elbows to see what he had brought.

"Mmm, is that fresh beef heart? Darling, you're too kind!" She picked up a slice of the raw meat, sniffing it, "Very fresh. Really, love, you didn't have to go to such measures. I'm fine with cooked food, really." She tore into her plate with gusto nevertheless.

Vilkas let her eat; and when she had finished breaking her fast, he took the plate and set it aside, asking as he did, "So what supplies are we low on? I've already restocked a few things, but maybe you need items I don't know about."

"I'm a little low on arrows. Darn things just disappear it seems, never can find them all. Other than that I'm still well stocked. I do want to go up to the Blue Palace and talk to the steward there. I'd like to get some more jobs lined up for the Companions while we're up here. Never hurts to be in sweet and cozy with the high and mighty." She rolled into his arms, sliding her bare thigh up over his. "How about yourself, need anything else while we're up here?"

He seemed a bit smug about something as he replied with a small smile, "Already taken care of, love. Do you want to sell any of that junk you picked up in the temple yesterday?"

"Probably should. We can do that on the way up to the Blue Palace, aye?" She leaped from bed, drawing Vilkas's eye to her sinewy curves, gloriously lit by the sunlight filtering in through the windows.

He rose from the bed and advanced on her with a gleam in his silver eyes. "How much of a hurry are you in to get to Ustengrav?"

She looked up from the loincloth she was untangling from her tunic-how had that happened? "Pardon?" she managed to get out before he scooped her into his arms. She fought back halfheartedly but ended up on the bed regardless, with the loincloth looped around her wrists, binding them. He had a firm grip on the bands of cloth, holding her down while his lips traced searing kisses down her throat and over her collarbone. "Not terribly, I was thinking after...lunch!" she moaned, straining to free her hands. He rumbled a happy assent; after lunch sounded fine to him.

* * *

By the time Laure and Vilkas finally made it out of the Winking Skeever, it was early afternoon. They were dressed in matching armor, carefully cleaned and polished. No amount of polish could buff out the many scratches and dings in the fine metal, however. Not that they were concerned about it too much. It was hard to take a warrior seriously when the armor he or she wore was pristine. Something about armor that didn't have a fine patina of tarnished scratches subtly spoke against experience in battle.

So it was, that after a few quick stops to sell junk and buy arrows, they presented themselves to the guards at the Blue Palace. The man before them regarded them with only moderate interest, his blue eyes flicking over their gear and weapons before asking, "Your business in the Palace is...?"

"We are here to inquire about employment. I understand the steward is the man I need to speak to." Laurelin smiled in a friendly manner.

The guard nodded. "Aye, Falk Firebeard is the man you need. He'll be up the stairs. I just need your names, please."

"I am Laurelin Vo'Shai, and this is Vilkas of the Companions."

The guard grunted his recognition and scribbled their names into a small ledger. "I've heard of you. Kodlak White-Mane is in a better place, but I'm sorry for your loss. Have you a new Harbinger yet?"

Laure sobered a bit, biting her lip. How would this man react to her being the Harbinger? Several people in Whiterun had scoffed at the notion that a female mer had ascended to the seat of adviser to the Companions. Apparently it was scandalous to some that an elf led the order that had helped purge Skyrim of the mer in the first place.

Vilkas noticed her hesitance and stepped forward, speaking up for the first time, "You have the honor of addressing the Harbinger of the Companions herself. Kodlak White-Mane chose her himself, and passed on his position to her after passing over other, less worthy souls." He stood at attention, daring the man to snicker or make a snide comment.

The guard only blinked and straightened up. "An honor, Harbinger. Please allow me go announce you to the jarl." He bowed slightly and ushered them through the doors, then leaped the stairs two at a time ahead of Laure and Vilkas.

Raising her eyebrows to Vilkas and mouthing, "Thank you," silently, she slowed her normally quick steps to allow the guard time to announce them. They came to the top and saw that Jarl Elisif's throne was empty, but several important looking, well-dressed nobles loitered about. And there in a corner, sprawled in a wooden chair, was a man Laurelin had hoped to never encounter again.

* * *

She stiffened slightly, her chin lifting as she glared at the finely turned-out Nord with mousy, graying hair. Vilkas noted her change in posture, scent, and-_mercy!_ He had never seen her look so much like she wanted to tie someone up with their own guts! Instinctively, he stepped closer to her, hand _almost_ drifting up to the haft of his greatsword.

Before things could get ugly or Vilkas could work out why she was suddenly hostile, a smiling man who could only be Falk Firebeard stepped up, palms extended in greeting.

He bowed deeply to Vilkas, saying, "Welcome to our fair city, Harbinger; it is an honor to have you here."

"I'm sure she would be delighted to accept your greetings herself, honored Steward." He gestured to Laurelin, saying, "Harbinger of the Companions, I give you Falk, Steward of the Blue Palace." He pressed back his amusement, fighting the smile which threatened to crack his face watching the big, red-haired man fumble a moment as he sorted out how to recover from his mistake.

"My apologies. I am truly sorry for any slight I may have given. The one who announced you failed to clarify..." he trailed off, darting a plaintive look to Vilkas before bowing to Laurelin. "Harbinger, you have my humble apologies."

"Your apologies are welcome but unneeded; the mistake was an honest one. One I'm sure will be repeated. It is easy to look at Vilkas and see the embodiment of a worthy Companion, aye?"

"How may I assist you today?" Falk queried with another small bow.

"While we were in town, I thought I would take the opportunity to find out if there were any jobs that require the attention of my fellows. I was made to understand there were some problems the Companions might be able to assist you with." Her smile was easy as she spoke, but her gaze kept flashing to the man in the corner, who seemed to have recognized her, and was now scowling into his goblet.

Falk scratched his red whiskers thoughtfully. "Aye, there are a number of bandit camps, some vampires, and reports of some supernatural occurrences filtering in. Would you be interested in such menial tasks?"

"They don't sound menial to my ears. I would like a list, if possible. I can take it back to Jorrvaskr with me and work it into our schedule."

"Ah, usually we would give one task at a time, but since you're the Companions... Follow me, and I'll get you all the information we have." He turned and led them away, still talking.

Laure cast one last threatening glance to the seated nobleman and caught up to Vilkas and Falk Firebeard in two long strides. "Do you have map locations as well? It would be so _very_ helpful."

* * *

Laure and Vilkas strolled out of the Blue Palace a while later, thoughtful expressions on both faces. She picked up her pace once they left the courtyard, pausing a moment to admire a tall stone mansion on the way. Though a fine looking structure, it looked empty. Vilkas stood behind her while she gazed up.

"Someday I'm going to buy this house. I just have to convince the jarl to sell it to me somehow."  
"Why do you like this house in particular so much?" he asked quietly. It did seem a bit out of character for a Bosmer to want a stone house in a city.

Laure took his big hand in hers and led him around to a small balcony out back. A stone wall with a window looking out over an amphitheater was the only thing of interest back here. "For the music. In the evenings, there are often bards from the College playing out there. This house has its own private box seats. I also love the inside; it has such potential." Her eyes were filled with a slightly dreamy, faraway look, which had Vilkas wondering.

"How do you know what the inside looks like?"

"A friend snuck me in one time. We just looked. It was empty then too, but I still remember the way the light streamed in through the windows and lit the whole place up." She shrugged and turned to the street again. "It's nice to have something to look forward to."

"You seem quite sure you will purchase it someday."

"I am. I _have_ the money, but the jarl hasn't agreed to sell it to anyone. Trust me when I say I'm not the only one who has an eye on Proudspire. I'll figure out a way to buy it, one way or another." She skipped ahead and taunted, "Now if you're all done, can we please finally get on the road. Really, some men just have no sense of urgency! There are tombs we need to pillage!"

Vilkas picked up his pace, ignoring her teasing. His mind had returned to the man she had stared so venomously at. Whatever the reason for her animosity, it was unusual in his experience to see her so _pissed_ to see any one person. Not wanting to spoil her good mood over the successful negotiations with Falk Firebeard, he resolved to ask her later. And now that he thought about it, he had a chance to give her the surprise he'd arranged for earlier. Hopefully she didn't take it the wrong way.

* * *

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just eat that thing right now, darling?" Laurelin playfully asked her smiling lover. A confused, concerned look crossed Vilkas' face.

"What do you mean? It's a horse! We're not in Valenwood. You can ride her instead of running everywhere." He patted the ebony-black flanks. "She has a beautiful gait and is good on the mountain trails. You'll see."

Laure pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. He really wanted to please her and it was adorable. Running her hands through her hair, she stepped slowly forward, then reached out to gently stroke its soft nose, feel its lips search across her fingers in search of treats.

"Sorry, I don't have anything for you." The big mare pushed her head into Laure's chest, blowing softly through her nose. She looked around the horse's head and arched an eyebrow at Vilkas. "So can you teach me to ride this thing? Or am I teaching you how to cook her?"

"Would she like you if she sensed you were about to filet her up?" he teased. "Looks as though she likes you."

"Probably. When I'm not actively hunting, lots of animals come right up to me. My first horse was painfully dumb. Pretty, but dumb. Pity, you might think a prize stallion like Frost would have a bit of self preservation, but he didn't."

"You had a prize stallion and never learned to ride? That seems odd. Why not?"

"Didn't have the time or inclination. Technically, he wasn't originally mine. I had the papers..."

"I'm listening"

"Papers I stole..." she admitted, inwardly cringing as she said it to him.

"Do, go on."

"I...it wasn't one of my most shining moments, you see. I was hiring myself out to a person of rather _dubious_ nature. There was an argument over the horse, from what I gathered. One of the people involved hired me to obtain the papers and horse for him. The, ah, original owner knew I was working for the other person, though she never approached me afterward for her property. She knew I had the horse and papers, but for some reason she let me keep him. I did do a few jobs for her to make up for it after." Laure noticed his expression growing stormier and tighter.

"Is there a point to this?" he ground out through gritted teeth. He was not pleased to hear this little story.

"Well, long story short, I was trying to find a buyer and was camping beside the road one night on the way back to town. Frost got startled by a fox in the brush, tore his stake free, and bolted off the side of a cliff."

"I see. Let me guess: you ate him?"

"Of course, why waste a bounty like that? Plus I had to get _something_ for my efforts."

"And how did this prize winning horse taste?" he asked sourly, forehead resting on the mare's flank.

Laure grinned wickedly as she stroked the mare's forehead. "Pedigreed."

* * *

Vilkas calmed his breathing. From the sound of it, this had happened long ago. It grated on him though to know she was capable of stooping to taking what wasn't hers. Still, not knowing-not wanting to know-the whole story, he decided to put it aside for now. He had never seen her do anything questionable to date and was willing to chalk it up to misjudgment on her part. As long as there were no further instances to deal with.

She was watching him carefully, stroking his "surprise's" long nose. Blowing out his irritation, he asked in a calm voice, "So would you like to learn how to ride? I think you will enjoy it once you do learn."

"Will you catch me if I fall off?"

"You won't fall; I'll be right behind you. Now for you, I think we should start off bare back." He gave her a boost up, then lifted himself up behind her. He gathered the reins in one hand and snagged the lead of his new gelding, pulling him along beside them. Setting a slow pace, they made their way down the road, heading toward Ustengrav.

* * *

Once she got over her initial reservations, Laure was able to lean back against Vilkas and enjoy the ride. Their bodies swayed rhythmically together, and Vilkas eventually turned the reins over to her, letting her guide them along. His chestnut gelding followed behind, laden with her saddle and all their travel gear.

For the last few hours, Vilkas had quietly mulled over her reaction to the man in the Blue Palace. Finally, he voiced the question, unsure if she would answer. "That man in the palace, you seemed to know him. Why the hostility?"

She stiffened in his arms, and nearly spat out, "Erikur. He's a slimy bastard without a shred of honor to his name."

"So you know this Erikur how?"

"He's another former employer. After I completed his job, he had me come to his house. Said he'd left his purse at home. Stupid me, I went along with him. Once he had me alone in his house, he plied me with wine, saying he wanted to celebrate with a toast first. I accepted his wine, though I was wary of his suddenly friendly nature. Turned out the wine was drugged. When he thought I was incapacitated, he tried to rape me." She clutched tightly at the reigns, almost pulling her mare to a halt.

"Tried? I take it you evaded him somehow."

"Aye, I just managed to fend him off. If I had drank more of his fucking wine, I might not have been able to. After I got away, and once my head cleared, I returned. I gave him a very _pointed, sharp_ lesson in polite behavior toward women. I trust the scars weren't too deep. If I ever hear of him doing anything similar, I promised to remove his foreskin the first time. The second time, I won't be so merciful." Her voice had taken on a hard edge he had never heard from her, and hoped to never hear again. Her casual mention of mutilating the man's privates, although warranted, was chilling. He was certain she was deadly serious in this.

"Wouldn't it be better to turn him in to the authorities if he did? Not that I'm suggesting he wouldn't deserve your, ah, creative attentions, but to do so would put you on his level."

"I could smear myself in dung and maggots and still be cleaner than that parasite. Besides, you see who's boots he licks, there would be too many opportunities for him to grovel his way out of whatever punishment was given. Don't worry, love, I think he still remembers, and I've not heard any whisper of him acting up. Hopefully, I won't ever need to carry out my promise to him." With that, she snapped the reins, goading the mare into a trot that made conversation difficult. Vilkas leaned back, not sure he was glad she had answered him, content with the silence.

Eventually, his voice broke the quiet between them again, "You don't need to ever worry about such a man trying to take you against your will again. His death would be a work of art by my hands."

"I know, love. Thank you." She pressed herself back against his chest, leaning her head back on his shoulder, nuzzling his chin with her nose. "I'm done with working for witless shit piles anyway. Plus the accommodations are better in Jorrvaskr."

"Dare I say, you seem to have worked for a number of 'witless shit piles' in the past. Why?"

"I didn't know any better. My experiences with human employers was mostly limited to straight mercenary work, or acting as a guide through the wilds. Those people knew better than to fuck with the person who ensured their safety. It wasn't until I started rubbing elbows with the damned upper class that I encountered the real slime." Vilkas grunted his acknowledgment of this.

They were picking their careful way over the marshy hills south of Solitude as the sun was setting. They found a protected hollow and hobbled the horses before setting up camp. Figuring they would be able to make Ustengrav by mid-morning at the latest, they made a small fire to warm themselves, as it looked as though it might snow tonight.

Gazing thoughtfully up at the first few flakes that drifted down, Vilkas mused aloud, "We should think about getting a little tent, keep us warmer and the furs drier."

"If you would like, I have no argument against a tent. Give us a bit more privacy too." She glanced up at him and quietly stated, "I gave you much to think about. Have I broken your trust in me?"

"Laurelin, I won't deny some worry that your past is going to bite us in the arse somehow. But we all do things that, upon later reflection, we wish we could do differently, aye?" She nodded solemnly while he continued. "Just be honest with me, please? It's all I ask of you. I'll even understand if you prefer not to answer something; just don't ever lie to me. I'm not sure I could forgive that so easily." He took her hand in his and kissed her bare knuckles, silver eyes boring into hers.

She nodded wordlessly, silently promising herself she would be as forthcoming as possible in the future. She preferred matters this way anyhow. Lies took so much effort and energy to maintain and never amounted to much in the long run but pain.

They ate in companionable silence until Vilkas cleared his throat before saying into her ear "You will want to give her a name."

"Will 'Supper' work?" Laure retorted quickly.

"Absolutely not. You can't name your horse after a meal."

"How about a specific dish then? Or she's black, I can call her 'Kettle'!"

"Don't mock me, woman! She should have a noble name, like 'Ebony' or 'Sable'."

"Hmmm, pretentious or boring...nope. I like 'Kettle'. She grinned and thew herself back as he swiped at her, catching his arm and directing it around her middle, which he obligingly pulled closer to himself.

"The Harbinger of the Companions and Dragonborn can hardly be known to ride about on a soup pot. Do better than that!"

His lips lowered to hers, almost silencing her snorted reply of, " I can can call her 'Soup'." Vilkas growled and covered her mouth with his hands while she continued talking against his palm, her eyes narrowed in mischief. Vilkas tuned out her teasing names, let his tongue wander to her ear, and soon she wasn't saying anything but _his_ name, breathlessly into his neck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three** –Unexpected Failure

Laurelin and Vilkas approached Ustengrav stealthily on foot, having scented several bandits camped nearby. Agreeing to take them by stealth had been easy; they both understood that when dealing with potential magic users, fighting smart often saved your hide. Their scouting revealed four armed men, one of whom was wearing black robes.

"So nice of him to paint a lovely bulls-eye on himself, don't you think?" Laure murmured to Vilkas. "Him first; both of us, aye?" Vilkas nodded and scooted to the side, giving them both the room they needed. Carefully lining up their shots, both arrows flew nearly simultaneously, punching through the mage's robed chest and throat.

While the remaining three bandits lurched to their feet, Laure and Vilkas calmly feathered two more. One dropped to his knees, hands clutching the barbed shaft sunk deep into his gut, sobbing. The other two charged, yelling, "You'll be so much easier to rob when you're dead!"

Shouldering their bows, the two Companions drew their blades, finding their footing in the ankle-deep snow. They let the bandits rush them, then Laure and Vilkas flashed into action. After a brief flurry of blows and parries, both outlaws fell to the ground bleeding. Laurelin rummaged through their pockets, muttering to the corpse she was looting, "_Who_ will be so much easier to rob when he's dead?" She snorted and moved to the dead mage while Vilkas finished the third man, who was still breathing.

She came away with a handful of potion ingredients, as well as a healing potion and an enchanted necklace. By the time Vilkas joined her, it was all tucked away. They fetched the horses and hobbled them outside, then made their way down into the tomb, Laure leading with notched arrow.

Inside, they crept across a large chamber, listening to the voices ahead. Laure started to unsheathe Dawnbreaker but noticed how even the tiniest bit of the blade out of the sheathe lit up the shadows they hid in. She decided to wait a moment longer, and before they could act, the two mages left down a side tunnel. She shrugged to Vilkas, who rolled his shoulders and gestured to the tunnel with his sword tip. They crept down, and before too long, shouts and the sound of combat had them rushing quietly through the passageway. Listening in amazement, they heard the two mages being taken down by a handful of draugr.

Shrugging again, Laure finally drew Dawnbreaker, letting its radiance warm the passageway, and slipped around the corner, her mate a step behind. Dawnbreaker turned out to be both a blessing and a bane. While it tore through leathery draugr with ease, catching them on fire, some of the undead creatures turned and fled as soon as they were struck by it's gleaming edge. Not to mention it surrounded some with a dark aura that sometimes caused the undead to _explode_ violently. Laure flinched back the first time that happened, watching in amazement as a flaming corpse with a dark purplish aura encircling it fled ahead of them. Laure and Vilkas realized that half the remaining foes in Ustengrav probably knew they were coming now.

Nothing to be done for it, they raced through the corridors and chambers quickly, slaying everything that moved before it had a chance to run further into the tomb. Strangely though, they noticed that quite a number of the draugr had already been cut down.

Examining the precise cuts to one of the corpses, Laure and Vilkas had no way to tell how long ago these had been destroyed, the dried, leathery flesh giving no clues, only that whoever had wielded the blade was a master. This didn't seem to be the work of the mages they had heard earlier but a third party.

Cautious once again, they delved further into the depths of Ustengrav, slaying the odd handful of draugr on the way but never any significant numbers.

They came into a vast, foggy chamber with tall trees growing up from the bottom, far below the ledge they stood on. Light shone down from giant rifts in the ceiling, illuminating several stone arches flinging themselves out into the moist air. A few shimmering rainbows danced in the mist kicked up by a tall waterfall, spilling down to the bottom. Laurelin shot down a handful of skeletons from above, and they made their way down a sloping ramp to the bottom, where she had seen the now familiar curve of a rune-covered wall.

Once more, Vilkas watched her back as the world went dark for long seconds, the ancient knowledge she was absorbing sinking into her mind, to slumber. She now knew she needed to slay more dragons and absorb their souls to unlock these useful Words of power she kept finding. As her mind rolled over the thought of deliberately hunting dragons for the purpose of gaining power, she felt conflicted. Power was a useful tool, but not one she wanted to become too accustomed to. It corrupted almost with out exception in her experience. It would be so frighteningly easy to take it with the best of intentions. So many throughout history had, only to lose themselves wholly.

She felt Vilkas slide an arm around her shoulders, his concerned voice in her ear asking, "Are you well? You were swaying, as if you were about to faint."

Laurelin glanced up to him, her vision clearing finally. "Aye, I'm fine now, thank you, love." She glanced around and at a whim decided to check behind the waterfall. She waded out and ducked behind while Vilkas inspected the dull runes still chiseled into the stone wall. Behind the waterfall was a short passage, the end of which housed a wooden chest. _I knew it_, she thought to herself, moving forward as she reached for a few lock picks.

Vilkas turned when he heard her wade into the water, giving the runes one final look before stepping to the shore, wondering if he should follow her when a hoarse Shout echoed around him, and his mate flew out of the half submerged passageway, head spinning over her feet as she skipped over the small pool. She slammed into the shore finally and lay stunned, half submerged.

Vilkas saw red, barely heard his own roar of fury as his sword appeared in his hands and he leaped toward a tall draugr that was stalking out of the sheeting water. He blocked a rapid succession of blows, growling with each strike, until he saw an opening and cut out the left leg from under his foe, then the right. When the draugr dropped, Vilkas simply chopped straight down, through the horned helmet, through the skull, finally wrenching it free. Since no further enemies had joined this one, he sheathed his sword, splashing through the shallows to where his lovely was just staggering to her feet.

Still furious, he spun her about, bellowing, "What in the name of Ysgramor were you doing? You could have been killed just now!" She was staring up at him, eyes wide in shock and pain, her hand clamped to the back of her head. Seeing a thin rivulet of scarlet tracing down her forearm, he calmed himself with an effort, trying to slow his racing heart.

"Caught me by surprise is all; I'll be fine." She groaned, moving her hand from her head, inspecting the blood on her fingers a moment. Vilkas gently turned her about and inspected her wound. It was a nasty bump, with a short jagged tear perforating the already bruising flesh. "Hit my head on the way out, I think. It's pretty narrow in there." She mumbled into her chest as his fingers probed the edges.

"Can you feel my fingers?"

"Oh yeah. Gently!" Wincing, she drew away. "If you don't see any rock shards in there, I think I'll just heal it up now."

"Go ahead; I didn't see anything in it. Unless you want me to dig around some more?" He gave her a hard smile, even though he wanted to just crush her to him, or shake her, now that he was sure she was going to live. A few moments later, the flow of blood had stopped, and she had a shiny new pink scar on her scalp. After she washed the blood off her hands and hair, they climbed back up.

Crossing another narrow span higher up, they encountered more draugr, these still shambling about in mockery of their old duties. Laure was starting to recognize the different types of draugr and which ones meant trouble. These were the easy kind, falling to Dawnbreaker and Vilkas' glass greatsword in seconds.

They had a bit of trouble with the puzzle of the gates that led into the next corridor. Three successive gates barred the way, the mechanisms being placed far from the wall, and each gate only stayed open a short time before closing again. After a few unsuccessful tries, Laure activated them all and counted how many heartbeats she had until each one closed. When she had it figured out, she turned to Vilkas, saying, "You go first, I'll follow. Stand by the gates, and when they open, run through. I may need to wait until you are through and do the cycle once more, but it should work if I use my Thu'um." He nodded and went to the wall. Once Laure activated all the mechanisms, he dashed through. She decided to wait as the first one would close in seconds. When all three had closed, Vilkas waited on the far side while she lined herself up. Once more, she opened the gates and dashed forward, using her Thu'um to shout, "**Wuld**," flying forward in a blinding rush in order to get through before the last one closed. They slammed down behind her and Vilkas caught her arm as she stumbled slightly on a loose stone.

Looking up into his now smiling, bright-eyed face, she announced, "I'm ready to be done here. Let's go back!" Vilkas glanced over her shoulder and shook his head.

"I think we're near the end by now. No point in going all this way just to turn around at the finish line."

"Fine, but I think we should eat, I'm starving. Healing spells don't do much for an empty stomach." They rested a bit, then moved on after filling their bellies. They had to slay several large Frostbite spiders-which made both of them think of Farkas-and pick their way ever so cautiously across a vast, fire-trapped floor. In spite of their caution, both were irritated and lightly blistered when they came to the other side.

"Roast." Laurelin announced as, once again, she patched them up as best she could and they continued, quite ready to get out of the stale, dusty air of the tomb.

"What was that? We just ate!" Vilkas asked, not sure what she was referring to.

"Roast. I'll call her Roast. Don't give me any line about it being undignified to ride a horse named Roast. Just leave me a little humor and you can tell people her name is 'Prize of Sovngarde' if you like."

Vilkas rolled his eyes behind her but refrained from making comment. It was, after all, her prerogative. It didn't comfort him, however, to know she was only half jesting, naming her horse thus. If anything happened to the mare, he was sure she would make full use of whatever was left. He couldn't help but feel amused at the bit of irony he saw. Warrior and werewolf, Vilkas had seen much bloodshed in his time, but his lady was sometimes almost too blasé about certain aspects of life. There was nothing squeamish about Laurelin.

They entered the burial chamber finally, shying back momentarily when several large, carved dragon edifices rose out of the channels of water flanking the central walkway. When nothing actually threatened them, they only tensed more.

Straight ahead was an elaborately wrought sarcophagus, a hand seeming to punch out of the very center of the peaked lid, palm upturned, fingers lightly curled, as if to hold something. As they edged forward, a sinking feeling hit her gut. Stone sarcophagi lay open, draugr cut down where they rested. Nearing the main tomb, she saw a slip of paper resting in the upturned palm of the hand.

She snatched it up, reading with disbelieving fury blazing in her eyes. "Fuck me sideways!" Someone else had gotten here first.

Laure emerged from the crypt, cursing softly, Vilkas right on her heels, a glum expression pulling his features downward. "Well, love, that was a total wash. Sorry to drag you all the way down there for nothing." She re-read the note, frustration pulling her normally smiling face into a scowl. The absurdity of the situation was beyond belief. To fight their way through a dusty, moldering tomb, reach her objective, and discover someone had beaten her there and was playing games now made her want to run the offending party through-after she knocked them around with her Thu'um for a while.

Vilkas turned to look out at the afternoon, a neutral expression now masking his previous one. "Would you like to head straight to Riverwood to meet this mystery person, or should we stop in Whiterun?"

Laure pushed her dirty hair off her dirty face, thinking quickly. "Actually, whoever it is can just cool his or her heels. I don't fancy being led around like a bull with a ring through it's nose. I don't _urgently_ need to obtain that horn." She started loading her gear and the spoils from the tomb into her saddlebags. "We can head back home, I'll rest a day or two and decide where to go from there."

"How do you mean 'decide where to go from there'? You still need to get the Horn from whoever took it. The Graybeards should have it, not some thief."

"I think that can wait a while, but I'll think about it on the way back." She slung her saddlebags over Roast's back, securing them quickly before scrambling into the saddle. Vilkas mounted his own bay, turning his head to Morthal, where they would probably take a room for the night.

Someone was toying dangerously with the Dragonborn, and she didn't appreciate it in the slightest. The inner wolf growled and paced, more than ready to spill the offender's last drop of blood. Laure herself didn't feel too inclined to deny that impulse, yet she did. With an effort, she shoved down her anger and smiled at Vilkas as they galloped toward town. At least they were both still alive and whole, which made the day, in the end, a victory.

"So you got all the way to the bottom of the crypt and the Horn wasn't there? Why are you surprised someone else beat you to it? How many ages has that thing been sitting there?" Farkas chuckled into his cup. "I would have been more surprised if it was still there. At least whoever took it told you where to find them. Considerate, that."

"Very considerate, aye. I'm still not as amused as you are, Farkas. Someone has too sharp an eye on my whereabouts and business than I'm comfortable with. I need to find out who's doing this before I walk into a trap." She couldn't help but think back on the time a few years back when she had led Mercer Frey, someone she was supposed to trust, into Snow Veil Sanctum and been set up by him. Not that she'd ever trusted him anyway. His cold gaze, the way he spoke to you as if you were already dead and therefore a waste of his time had always kept her on guard around him. Everything about Mercer had been a lie. If only she'd listened to her instincts, maybe she'd have a few less scars.

She paced the sitting room of the Harbinger's quarters, sipping a mug of Farkas' excellent mulled mead. It was delicious as always, yet she hardly tasted the sweet, spicy brew as her thoughts focused on the issue at hand. Vilkas sat near his twin, scanning the short note once more. Laure knew what it said by heart, and in fact had nearly thrown it in the fire in a fit of anger, just so she would never need look at it again.

_Dragonborn-_

I need to speak to you. Urgently.

Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you.

A friend

She remembered her short stay in Riverwood after the dragon attack on Helgen, and from what she could recall, the Sleeping Giant Inn only had rooms on the ground floor. Someone wanted to get a look at her before making a final approach, that much was clear. Why though, was not evident to her. _To get a good clean shot at my unsuspecting back? Well why not?_ Surely not everyone was pleased to have a mer Dragonborn prancing about, mucking up the game being played. _Ulfric? Would he do this? A friend wouldn't have me go through this song and dance_.

"I need more information before I trot off and get into something I'm not prepared for. Vilkas, I'm leaving you in charge for a week while I go to Riften. I know some people who might be able to give me a few clues. Think you can handle it all?" She winked at him over the brim of her mug.

"Take Farkas or one of the whelps with you, and I'll cover everything here."

"No whelps, this is maybe more dangerous than we think. And you need Farkas here; I want them all training hard. Don't worry," she reassured him upon noting his scowl of displeasure, "I haven't forgotten how to get by with out a shield-sibling, love. I'll be back before you know it."

Vilkas' scowl deepened, and looked as though he was ready to argue, but the words were never uttered, as she interrupted quickly, continuing to plan. "Between you two and Aela, I would like to see a daily schedule of training worked out for everyone. Now is not the time to be sitting about on our hands. We need to be sharp and alert. Anyone have ideas about how to get Torvar to sober up a bit? He's a liability to us as of now."

Farkas chimed in, "I could try talking to him. He's not unreasonable, just...pickled."

"Brother, if talk could sober that man up, it would have happened years ago," intoned Vilkas, sensing now wasn't the time to bring up his unhappiness with Laurelin leaving without a shield-sibling. "No, I think we need to break his habit of waking up and downing a few pints first thing. Keep him engaged and busy with work, so he doesn't have time to drink as much. That would be a start, at least.".

"Good, we can start with that and work on a deeper plan when I return." Laure glanced up as Aela sauntered in to join the conversation. "What do you think, sister?"

Aela tucked a strand of deep red hair behind her ear, answering, "I agree, Torvar as he is right now needs some work. He has long felt as though he is the most underrated of the Companions, but when he is sober, he is a capable fighter. Sober him up somehow and give him direction, and I think he will come around. I'll help out any way I can."

"Good, thank you, Aela. While you're here, I have a personal favor to ask you."

"Shoot," the huntress said, her eyes narrowing as she caught a whiff of the Harbinger's brief moment of anxiety.

Laure hesitated for a moment, then began slowly, "This is a difficult time for us. I'm new at the job, and not able to be here all the time. I need to be able to leave for weeks at a time maybe and come back to as few surprises as possible. So what I want to ask you personally, Aela, is that you not—ah-offer the blood to any one else. I intend to start recruiting new whelps as soon as possible, and the last thing we need is a bunch of new bloods going moon-crazy in town."

Aela scowled, "I'm a little insulted you think I would just run around offering the blood to every babe in swaddling clothes that wanders in, sister."

"It's not like that. I'm just asking you to refrain, or make sure that the remaining circle here has some say in it. We need to solidify and strengthen our position, not introduce more instability and madness. Shit, I'm over two hundred years old and could barely contain myself at times, and it remains a challenge. All I'm saying is, we need more warriors right now, not wolves."

Aela nodded slowly. "What you say has merit. I won't turn any more of the whelps. We should consider, however, that someone may come along and be perfect for the blood. If such a person came along, I would not hesitate for very long before approaching him or her."

"Just bring your candidate to us first, before you tell anyone else. To be strong, we need to communicate and come to a decision together, especially when speaking of something as weighty as the beast blood. Now, I have one final suggestion I would like to make to you all before I take this to the others. In the past, we took almost any reasonable job that paid well. Fine, that worked well in the past. However, I for one feel that some of the jobs we have accepted in the past give a certain stigma to the Companions, and I would like to see these jobs stop. They are not honorable, and leave a bad taste in my mouth."

"The bully jobs, aye?" asked Farkas quickly. Laure nodded and beamed at her shield-brother. "Thought so, never liked them much either, but gold is gold."

"True, but I would like to raise the bar with our organization and not skulk around underneath anymore. I feel involving ourselves as muscle in petty disputes is beneath our goals. I think we should be involving ourselves with the issues that matter, not punching out farmers because they made too many late deliveries-or whatever the problem is. We are an ancient, proud order of warriors, not common thugs. We should look to that. I want to see young men and women of all races lining up to become a Companion-finest, noblest of all warriors in Tamriel. But we need to earn that back first. This is one small change we can begin with. Are you with me?"

Farkas pounded his fist on the tabletop, a fierce grin spread over his stubbly face. Laure glanced at Vilkas and saw him nodding his quiet approval. Last she looked to Aela, who shrugged and smiled, "Well spoken, Harbinger. You just might be wiser than you look!"

"I wouldn't go that far, sister!" laughed Laure.

After having supper in Jorrvaskr with everyone and announcing her proposition to the skeptical fighters, Laure and Vilkas excused themselves, returning to Breezehome after a short walk through the cloudy night. Lydia greeted them at the door, then retired when she saw the tired, tense looks on her Thane and Vilkas' faces.

Laure released the hand she had held all the way down from the mead hall, grabbing a few bottles of mead, then headed up stairs to their room. Vilkas followed her up, watched as she undressed, then flopped down on the bed with a sigh. She propped her head up and took a long swallow of her mead, then lay back.

"You still wish me to take one of the whelps with me, aye?"

"It would make me feel better about not coming along with you." He sat on the edge of the bed, loosening the straps and buckles of his armor.

Laure sat up and slipped up behind, helping undress him with her deft fingers. "What if I took Lydia? Then I could send her back here once I arrive in Riften. My housecarl there can continue if that would make you more comfortable."

"Lydia is a fine fighter, and sworn to your service, so aye, that would make me more comfortable." He dropped his head as she began kneading away some of the tightness in his shoulders and neck. "You have never mentioned being a thane of Riften before. When did this happen?"

"Years ago. They practically threw the title at me once I helped wipe out a band of Skooma dealers."

"That was you? We heard about it here even, how the entire den had been taken out in a single night. We thought maybe it was the Brotherhood." His head popped up and he swiveled his bright eyes her way. "You're not with..."

Laure laughed and playfully bit his shoulder. "Darling, I despise the Brotherhood. I've never been, nor will I ever be, an assassin. Not this life, or any other. You have my word on that!"

Vilkas relaxed and sank back with his head cushioned in her lap. "When do you leave?" Silver eyes framed by inky warpaint drifted closed as she stroked his forehead lightly brushing stray hairs to the side.

"A day or two at most. Truth be told, I feel ready for a week of just lying in bed. Maybe have food brought up when we need to replenish our energy. Making use of that deposit I put down for Lydia at the Mare..."

"Who would bring the food if Lydia is at the Mare?" Vilkas teased, eyes still closed, knowing she was giving him a meaningful stare. "Of course, this First Minion of the Dragonborn would be honored to _not_ cook her meat for her. And pour the mead. Would you like a bath while we're imagining things, love?"

"Of course, but who's imagining things? As soon as I get back, we're kicking Lydia out until the whole bag of gold I dropped on Hulda's counter is gone. It was a _heavy_ bag." His eyes flew open to meet hers, filled with mischief and hunger.

"I could match you, coin for coin..." was his husky reply, which made her laughter ring out.

"Deal." she finally managed.

* * *

_Hello lovely readers, thank you again for taking the time to read my humble work. Thank you as always for the support, faves, follows, and comments. I hope you enjoy. ~PyreIris~_


	4. Chapter 4

_Greetings lovely readers, this was difficult chapter to write, and it isn't any easier to read. Please don't judge poor Laurelin because I'm not always up to the task of telling her story. We all have good and bad days. We hope you will continue to read on. As always constructive comments and reviews are welcome. Hater will be mocked and blocked. Or something like that. Cheers! ~PyreIris~ _

**Chapter Four** -** Breaking Point**

**Letters**

_Farkas, thank you for the new gloves and boots, I will think of you whenever I wear them. Please look after your brother while I'm away. Knowing him, he'll be anxious the entire time. He may be your older, smarter brother; but he's a skinny, mouthy git sometimes and may need your muscle to get him out of trouble. In truth, I jest with you. I know you always look out for each other, regardless. I'll miss you and look forward to seeing you again soon.  
With Love,  
Laure_

_Vilkas, please don't be mad. I'm having a difficult enough time leaving as it is, so I'm taking the easy way out. You are sleeping peacefully right now, and I don't want to disturb that for a long goodbye. I will be back as soon as possible. Thank you for understanding that I need to go do this. I will have Lydia with me to keep me out of trouble.  
_

_Don't worry, you will make a splendid interim Harbinger until I return. I'll see you soon, but never soon enough.  
I miss you already, beloved.  
Laurelin_

Sent via courier:

_Brynjolf, I will soon be back in Riften. I imagine you are more than ready for a little break from the routine. I apologize once more for my tardiness. I need you to make some inquiries around our contacts; someone is watching me and I don't like it. Find out if there are any rumors or information available on those who might have a new interest in my activities. I look forward to seeing you again, very soon!  
Eyes open; Walk with Shadows,  
Laurelin_

Laurelin said goodbye to Lydia at the Riften stables. She paid the stable master for Roast's board, and turned to her housecarl. "Thank you for the company. Sorry nothing exciting happened on the way."

Lydia squinted at her Thane before nodding. "No need to apologize; exciting is sometimes lethal. If you have no further need of my services, I think I can be back to Ivarstead by nightfall."

"Of course. Here is some gold for your room and drinks, food. Be safe, Lydia." They clasped forearms and separated, Lydia turning her mount around and trotting away at a fast pace. Laure watched her go then slipped around to the back door of Honeyside.

Bryn was waiting for her when she slipped through the door, propped up easily on her bed, his long legs stretched out across her bed comfortably, a glass of wine in one hand, book open in the other. Clad in a smokey quilted tunic and doeskin trousers that fit like a water-shrunk glove, he looked delicious. Laure dropped her pack by the door and leaped onto the bed to perch next to him cross-legged. Bryn, expecting her usual leap into his arms allowed his smile to falter a bit, but he shrugged, "Ah, it's good to see you again, lass. I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten us all."

Laure had nearly forgotten the way his voice made her feel watery inside. The light in his emerald eyes, the music of his lilting voice caused a flood of slumbering feelings to stir. Finally, unable to resist, seeing the hurt in his eyes and being able to smell his disappointment, she relented. Sliding herself lengthwise along his body, she covered his beautiful face with kisses.

He moaned and clasped her tightly to him, wanting to bury his face in her hair, peel her hard armor away. Laure had no intention of letting things move beyond some passionate kisses, however. With a happy, frustrated growl, she rolled away from him and off the bed. Sweeping up the abandoned wine glass and book from the nightstand, she sipped one and examined the other.

"Oh my! Some serious reading here-_The Real Berenziah_, huh?"

"I found it on your shelves, smart arse. Come back here and give your favorite thief a proper greeting."

"Oh, Rune is here? Why didn't you say something?" she teased, sipping her pilfered wine. She swished enticingly into the kitchen, reading aloud as she went.

They ordered dinner from the Bee and Barb, eating while they exchanged news. Bryn, having sensed her hesitance to rekindle their romance, quickly recovered, throwing on his easy, smooth investor's face to cover his confusion. While his handsome features gave no hint of the hurt he felt- he had no idea she could practically read his mood through his scent—but Laure _could_ smell it on him. Disappointment and sadness lingering, worming deep down where even he wouldn't look.

She tried to make up for her lack of physical contact, praising his efforts with the Guild. "How did you know I was close? Did you pay off the guards to keep an eye out?"

"Aye, and the stable hands, a few Argonian fishermen, about a dozen urchins..." he ticked them all off on his fingers. "Don't worry, I'll send you a bill later, lass." he smirked, dimple making a brief, flutter-inducing appearance.

"Naturally," she replied. "I would never condone wasting the Guild's resources to track down yet another errant leader!" Their eyes met and held, shining with mischief. "So, what educational games have you come up with for the benefit of our 'children'?"

"I would rather _show_ you. Although Vex and Delvin did come up with a rather good one. We call it 'Hide-and-go-Sneak'. The goals are two fold, where teams split up and hide around town, which is divided up equally. Each team has an alternating rota of Hiders and Sneakers. Each Hider selects a torch to defend, and each sneaker tries to get away with as many torches as possible."

"Unseen of course."

"Naturally. The winning team has the most torches at the end of each round. It hones their skills, and they get to have a bit of mostly harmless fun."

"It must irritate the guards to have all the torches disappear."

"The guards have started placing wagers, actually. We get a cut of whatever winnings they pull in."

"Clever! I would like to play some time." She paused and gave him a soft smile. "I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, Laurelin. I'm proud of _them_. They've taken to the changes we've made easier than I thought they would."

"They'll do anything for you, love. You always have the Guild's best interests in mind. They all know that."

She paused then, unable to stop herself, reached across the small table and stroked his cheek, the backs of her fingers lightly brushing his whiskers. It was one of her most intimate gestures with him, and Bryn couldn't help but press his face against her hand for a moment.

"I've missed you, Bryn, my devilishly handsome accomplice in crime."

"I've missed you too, lass. You were gone too long."

"I daydreamed about you, thought about you at the most dangerous times-" she was cut short by his chuckle of amusement, although she could sense his rising sadness.

"Aye, most lads object when they realize your thoughts are on someone else during that _special time_."

She pinched his cheek lightly and laughed hollowly, "Not then, silly. I was talking about on the mountain trails when-"

"I know, lass." he sadly interjected before she could continue. He stood and kissed her hand, his lips warm and smooth on her calloused fingers. "Well, I had better get moving. I told Vex I would only be gone a few hours. Will you be coming down soon? The rest of those thugs are eager to see you again. They were beside themselves with glee when they found out you are the Dragonborn everyone has been speaking of. They nearly pissed themselves. Their precious Guild Master, the new Dragonborn." He hugged her briskly after she nodded. "Goodnight. We can finish catching up when you've rested. I'll see you in the Flagon." His lips lifted into a smile that never quite reached his eyes, and he slid out the front door.

She watched the door close gently-never a slammed door from Bryn—and listened to his nearly quiet steps patter on the wooden walkways. Standing alone in her kitchen, she ran her hand over her face, bringing his clean, spicy aroma right to her nose. She felt her legs go weak and sank back down.

She knew, even without her werewolf senses betraying his every emotion, that he was covering, and doing it for her sake as much as his own. She was aware she had caused his pain and felt helpless to ease it, felt it keenly in her own heart. She had known when she did it that starting a relationship with Vilkas was going to affect all others. She just wished everyone could see how much she truly loved them, her _three_ human lovers. Two, or one. _Fuck_. None of it made any sense.

_Gods, why didn't I fall in love with a fellow Bosmer? Elrindir and his brother are right across the way in Whiterun. That would have been convenient. No, I have to fall in love with a couple of Nords. Stupid, Laurelin. You can't think Vilkas would be happy about you coming back reeking of Bryn. Ever. And it isn't fair to either of them. You can't have it all, Laurelin Vo'Shai. So cry it all out like a spoiled bitch and get over it. Bryn deserves to know what is going on_.

Inwardly cursing herself, Laure struggled out of her armor, thoughts swirling and clamoring for her attention. Her fingers seemed stiff and clumsy; and finally she kicked her boots off and fell onto her bed, still wearing the rest of her armor, to toss and turn restlessly. She had nightmares of course, in which she held a still loving and accepting Brynjolf down under a massive, pale claw and casually ate his still beating, broken heart from his chest.

She woke from her dreams and sobbed into the pillow he had leaned on earlier. She wrapped her arms around it, hugging it to her while she steeled herself for the day ahead, afraid of rest, of dreaming. _What is the best way to tell someone you love_... and the cycle started anew, with the added element of her tears to further drain her.

Laure strode into the Cistern the next day feeling hollowed out. Still exhausted. The enthusiastic cries of her precious Guild rang out, rousing her slightly from the deep funk she was in. They took turns showing her newly acquired baubles, tricks, and related plans, all of which she struggled to summon the necessary awe and excitement for.

Bryn, watching from his desk, finally stepped in, having immediately noted her somewhat forced replies and sunken eyes. "All right, that's enough, you louts. Back to work, all of you!" He guided her away.

She smiled at him in gratitude, saying quietly, "I can't stay long; Laila has invited me to dine with her this afternoon."

"Dining with the Jarl, on a first name basis even. Such a humble public servant you are."

"Shush, I like her, and I like her clueless even more. I'll go have a nice, civilized meal and try to head off any trouble coming our way from the top."

"That's my Nightingale. I've been making inquiries about your trouble; I should start hearing back from our contacts soon. Will you have time to see Maven? She's been asking if you're still alive, wondering where you are hiding out."

"I'll see what I can do. I need to get this other matter settled though, so she may just need to wait." She blew out a long breath, trying to sort out her thoughts and spiraling emotions.

"That should make her fit to be tied. You know how very patient she is."

"Right now, what she wants is at the bottom of my list of important things to mind. I'll send her a note and let her know I'm here for now. She knows where to find me."

Brynjolf ran his fingers through his long red hair. "She's going to roast my balls, lass. Do me a favor; go to her for me?" Laure could tell he had been stretched thin by his duties; dealing with the Guild and throwing Maven in on top of the mix would be stressful to anyone. He _was_ thinner, she realized; it didn't appear he was eating or sleeping enough. She wished she could stay longer, give him a true break, but she knew she needed to get moving. Yet she couldn't deny such a simple request from him.

"I'll be sure to stop by and check in with her after dinner. I want you to get some rest; we can talk later."

"No rest for the wicked, lass. See you soon." With an effort, they both turned away, he striding to his desk, she making for the Flagon. Tonilia often had nice arrows, and she was running low on lockpicks. As she walked away without kissing him goodbye for the first time since they became lovers, she realized how much she was distancing herself from. For months now she had- if she was honest with herself- been avoiding the guild. There were reasons of course, most of them valid. But there was a tiny part of her heart that knew when Bryn found out about Vilkas, it would break his heart. She wanted to delay that as much as possible, some out of selfishness, but mostly because she loved her fiery Nord second in command fiercely and feared hurting him too deeply. _Losing his friendship, respect, trust. _

Laure bit her lip, forcing back a quiet sob. She would not walk into the tavern with tears streaming down her face like a child. Instead she steeled her mind, determined to make what small, pathetic gestures she could to help him out. It was the least she could do.

She strolled out of the shadows and up to Delvin, smile on her face, as if she had not a care in the world. "You're up early, old man!" She rubbed his bald head fondly then dropped into a chair next to the middle-aged thief.

"Always a pleasure to see you boss. I heard you was back in town. Got up early, just for you." He winked at her and leaned forward, confiding in a hushed tone, "Haven't heard anything yet about your little problem, but it's still early. Was probably a bit... hasty to hope we'd find the answer somewhere close to home. It'll take a few days. Don't worry, boss I've got my best people on it."

"Thanks Del, I appreciate your help. So tell me, why does Bryn look like he hasn't eaten or slept in weeks? I'm worried that I've asked to much of him."

"D'ya really want to know? He's been worried sick about you. We know you're busy, out fightin' dragons and all. We're all right proud of ya, but I don't think any of us would trade places with you, pet. Not for any amount of gold. 'Cept maybe for him." Laure groaned and dropped her face into her hands. Delvin took a moment to look over a letter while she pulled herself together.

"Del, I wish I could say something, do something to make all of this easier, but I don't think I can. I have so many things going on right now. But I want to help him, at least with the things I can. Tell me what I can do."

"He's doing a fine job, boss. It just gets a little much sometimes. Boy rarely leaves the Flagon or Cistern these days. Don't know what to tell ya. I'm not his closest friend; maybe _she_ could tell ya." He gave her a thoughtful look as he sipped his drink. "I think that's what bothers him most. Thought of you not coming back."

"That I can't help, sadly. I wish _I_ knew! I like to think I'll survive this but-tell me how I can ease his work load, get him out of the Cistern." This was not a conversation she wanted to be having, not now, not with Delvin.

"You know how to do that, boss. Do what you do." He lifted his brows meaningfully at her. Well, _that_ was out of the question. It would only confuse the issue, and she knew Vilkas would be hurt as well. Hurt and furious most likely.

"Thanks Del, I talk to you later." She moved away, chatting briefly with Vex before sitting down with Tonilia. Her head was pounding, her heart hurt, and she knew it was likely only going to hurt more before the day was done. When she finished with Tonilia, she headed up to Honeyside, needing to bathe and change before her dinner with Laila._Bryn, meet me at the Shadow Stone tonight before moonrise.  
You can bring K, but alone would be better. Don't be late! L._

Trust amongst thieves was a rare thing. Perhaps even more rare given the history of the Nightingales in the not too distant past. However, Laure and Bryn had been closer than normal- thicker than thieves as it were-for several years now. They had entrusted each other with their lives and wealth for longer than they had been lovers. Bryn knew she was a remarkable thief and, when she needed to be, an able killer; yet he trusted her personal code of conduct implicitly. So in spite of a few easily dispelled misgivings, he showed up at the Shadow Stone just before moonrise.

He rose up from the darkness, silently slipping into the clearing, crossing to where she waited. Her head was tilted against the stone while she watched the moons spin silver light across the land.

"So, it's to be a romantic moonlight picnic, then." he rumbled softly into her ear. She said nothing, but put her hand out, and he slid his fingers into hers. While she pressed her cheek into the backs of his fingers, he stepped up behind her, wrapping his free arm around her slender waist. They stood quietly, watching the moon shadows sneak slowly away from their casters.

"How was your dinner with Laila?"

"It went well enough I suppose. Thank you for meeting me here." She lapsed back into silence again, trying to decide where to start.

"You've been as distant as the moons, lass. What's on your mind?" His voice so soft in her ear, giving her tiny chills.

"Ah, Bryn, so many things are on my mind. Where to begin? You may have heard the Companions' Harbinger was slain last month. Kodlak was a wonderful man. Although he was a crusty old warrior, he was a surprisingly thoughtful man. He tried to keep his family out of the civil war, looked after their well-being, so many things. I respected him, but now he's gone, and he appointed _me_ as his successor. I'm still not sure why. There was a much more experienced candidate he could have selected." She leaned her head back against his warm shoulder as she talked, listening intently to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Strong and steady, she could hear the echoes of it in his chest.

"Could your trouble be from a rival for the position then?"

"Out of the question, no." They both lapsed into silence again.

Finally she asked, "Why did you wait for me? I thought we agreed years ago not to take us there." Bryn was silent, wanting to nuzzle her ear and clutch her closer, yet refraining. "Bryn, you can't put off your life waiting for me to get back. No one, least of all me, knows when or if I'll make it back."

"You, lass, are worth waiting for. I've been too busy to start anything with anyone else at any rate. What is this about?"

"Take a walk with me?"

"Of course. Tell me what's on your mind while we go."

"I learned much about being Dragonborn up at High Hrothgar. Soul of a dragon, body of a mortal; if I live through everything and don't get killed, I could live maybe another six or seven hundred years. Doomed to literally see everyone I love die, one way or another." She exhaled.

"Lass, I don't know what to say. I'm sorry doesn't quite seem appropriate." When she waved her hand dismissing his concern he asked, "What else?"

"I was born to hunt dragons, apparently. Someone is watching me, even went to the trouble of going through a tomb I was heading to, breezing through it to collect the artifact I was after, and leaving me a note telling me where I could pick up the Horn."

"There's some cheek. Any ideas who? And what horn? I could start looking around for clues based off that, perhaps."

Laure shook her head as they strolled over the grassy meadow. "No idea who, and I've been racking my brain, but it just eludes me. The horn is that of Jergen Windcaller. The Greybeards asked me to retrieve it, but I think the theft itself is by a third, as of yet unknown, party. Why send me to retrieve it if they could so easily get there ahead of me? For a test? That doesn't make any sense. So I've come to the best for help."

"We've got Karliah and the rest on it. Anything else?"

"So much more." Reluctantly, Laure tugged herself from his arms, spun about facing him, face shadowed. "You need to see something."

"Like you slaying a dragon and absorbing it's soul to power a mystic voice, perhaps?" he teased lightly, becoming increasingly concerned in spite of his easy remarks.

"Bryn, for a moment I need you serious please. Can I count on you to not panic when I show you this?"

"Lass whatever it is, you know I'll be here." His green eyes bored into hers, trying to read her but not succeeding.

"Okay, stand there. Don't move, on your life." His sparkling eyes widened, but he stayed put. Laure was already shrugging out of the dress she wore, while he watched with a mixture of alarm and amusement.

"Sure you don't need a hand with that?" as she stripped off in front of him.

"I know you could help, just stay there!"

Finally nude, Laure looked skyward a moment. She really hoped he didn't bolt. Prey running away was nearly irresistible. As she called her beast form forward, she stepped back a few paces, still staring into Bryn's eyes. She felt the itchy looseness in her joints as her change began, letting it slip to the fore in small stages.

Brynjolf cried out in alarm as his lovely lass began to _grow_, so frighteningly swift. Her knees hinged back, chest expanded, and long, whitish fur sprouted from her elongating face. Her lips thinned out, barely covering a terrifying assortment of long white fangs. A long, plumy tail swished back and forth behind her as she keened softly, unable to master all of the pain. Huge clawed hands made a fist, then unclenched as her transformation finished sweeping over her body. She turned her burning, pale eyes to meet his stricken emerald gaze.

His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, gaping at the magnificent, terrifying creature now hulking over him. Finally he managed to gather his wits. "I _had_ wondered about the sudden gain in stature, lass. I thought you were a little past any growth spurts," he joked lamely, but still he stood his ground.

Laure hunched down in front of him on her long haunches, bringing her eyes down level with his. He couldn't help but notice her eyes were the very same eyes he had stared into so deeply many times before; her fur was the same color as her hair. She was lowering her massive head, long swept back ears flattened while she whined softly. She extended a huge, clawed hand, palm up, tentatively closing the distance between them.

His own fingers stole out, almost against his will, to cautiously stroke the fur of her her forearm. It was surprisingly soft, and he could feel the heat radiating off her huge form. Somehow, the heat, the silky fur, and her gentle demeanor were comforting in the face of this unexpected revelation. He glanced back up to her eyes, seeing her still watching, almost pleading. His long fingers slowly rose to sink into the fur of her mane, to stroke over her cheeks, feel her ear flick as he scratched behind it. Her nose dipped and a soft rumble echoed in her throat while he scratched away.

"Can you speak in this form?" he wanted to know.

"_Hard. Not, good,_" she managed to growl and snarl in answer to his question.

"Why? Why a werewolf, Laurelin?" he wanted to know, confusion evident in his gaze, posture, smell.

Laure paused, sniffing the air, then held up one claw. "_Stay_," she rasped out, then melted off into the night without breaking a twig.

Bryn waited perhaps two anxious minutes before she loped back to him, a small doe in her jaws. She dropped it at his feet and scampered like a giant, happy puppy about the standing stones a moment before pulling up short in front of a frozen, bemused Bryn. She yipped a few high excited calls and then settled down in front of him, her change already shrinking her body, the fur retreating. Quickly her tall, menacing form was back to it's old self, and she stood in front of him naked, a question hovering between them.

"By the gods, how long have you been a bloody werewolf?" he finally asked, his voice hoarse with barely checked emotion. Her lithe elvish figure now gave no clue as to her condition, excepting the now blatantly obvious gain in height.

"Almost two months now. Sometimes it's still pretty strange, and there are a few drawbacks, but I find myself loving it. Thank you for not scarpering off. That might have been bad for you, for us." She picked up her dress and slipped back on. "You're not saying much," she observed, noting his eyes darting from her to the surrounding landscape, up to the stars, then back to her.

"What should I say? Congratulations, you make an astonishingly beautiful man-eating monster?" he replied in bewilderment.

"I've never!" she cried, ignoring the sting that came with the title of _monster_.

"Well I know you wouldn't, but Shor's Bones, Laurelin, this is beyond my ken! What happened?"

"Bryn, I chose this; it wasn't an accident or a cruel thing forced upon me. I am enjoying the hunter's senses I now have. I can run longer, I'm resistant to almost all diseases, fight without weapons, and my hearing and sense of smell are unbelievably keen now. I use these things as tools, same as I would a blade or a lock pick. And I feel undeniably _alive_ with the beast blood."

"I see." He was stroking his closely cropped whiskers thoughtfully, still alternating his gaze between her and the sky. "I thought you changed on the full moons."

"That's a bit of a myth. We can use our abilities everyday. The moons just make the urge to change considerably more powerful."

"Interesting. Are all of the Companions similarly _gifted_?" he asked archly.

"No, just the Circle is, Farkas, Vilkas, myself and-"

"Is this the same Farkas who had the crush?"

"Aye, he has become one of my closest friends, my sworn shield-brother."

"Any good in the furs?"

"Fantastic. I could barely walk the next day."

"He must have been in pretty shape by the time you were done with him." Bryn joked.

"Ha, he seemed none the worse for the wear, even though my urges have been through the roof since I took the blood."

"Did you ever give it a go like that?" his eyebrows lifted. She laughed and punched his arm lightly shaking her head, sobering quickly. "So is he the reason you've been away so much? Why you're so distant now?"

Shaking her head again, she said, "I've been away training with the Companions, learning about my Thu'um, bashing my way through crypts and keeps. Killing bandits and the cowards who killed the last Harbinger. But Farkas isn't why. When I first took the blood-well shortly after that is-there was someone who kept me calm, supported me, helped ease the pain and fury that comes with the blood. He ended up being with me during my first moon change, and we, um, bonded."

"I take it from your tone this isn't just bonding in the physical sense." He sighed, sensing the truth was looming closer. He could tell she hesitated to tell him more, but he wanted to know what was going on. Needed to know.

"Vilkas, he's tough to like at first. I wasn't sure if I liked him, and I thought he disliked me. But it turned out we shared too many things to just ignore. We like books and maps, I know he has my back in a fight..." She had been staring at her hands, turning them over nervously while she talked, but finally raised her eyes, noting his lips pressed into a small frown. Swallowing, she continued, "he's more than just a shield-brother to me. He's my teacher, brother in arms, lover, fellow hunter, and my wolf spirit's mate. _My_ mate."

Bryn made a beeline for the nearest low stone, slumping heavily against it, while his head spun dizzily. He knew she would not lightly commit herself to someone, knew what it meant to her to find someone she could connect to on so many levels. _She hunts with him_. It was something he never did with her. Stealthy as he was, Bryn was no hunter of beasts. His quarry had always run along more human lines.

He didn't know what to make of all this. There was too much to try to make sense of all in one hour. What did it all mean to them, to the Guild, to him? "By Nocturnal, I feel like I hardly know you anymore! Any other surprises in store for me?"

She sank to her knees in front of him, trying to look up into his eyes, but he couldn't meet her gaze, couldn't let her see the hurt and longing. He knew he would fold if he did.

"I'm still the same person, Bryn. Part of me is enhanced now-"

"Aye, enhanced, bloodthirsty, and practically married to the Companions! You know what they do when one of us breaks out of jail, right?" She nodded miserably. "Does he know about you being a thief, a Nightingale? Am I supposed to be happy about all of this?" His voice was rising, growing thicker and hoarse as his misery finally bubbled to the surface.

"I don't know what you're supposed to feel! I just thought you needed to know. And I haven't forgotten you. But-"

"But, you have a new life, a new love, a new title, and no time for your old Guild."

"No!" she cried, feeling the sharp truth in his words. "It was never meant to be like that!"

"And yet it is. I-I'm at a loss for words, lass. I need to go. Clear my head. We'll talk later, goodnight." With that he lurched to his feet and propelled himself past her, his mind reeling in circles. _Her mate. Hunt together. Lover_. Biting back bitter cries, he shoved his way into Nightingale Hall, seeking solace in the quiet stone refuge of Karliah. An agonized wailing howl followed him down into the lower passages.

Laure listened to him go, staring bleakly at her fingers, laced together, trembling. The pain in her heart was boiling over, but she knew if she felt this badly, having known what was coming and being somewhat able to prepare herself for it, that his pain must be even more intense. His scent drifted over her, reminding her of all the times they had lain wrapped comfortably in each other's arms, in bed, or her little fishing boat on the dock out back. She would probably never again enjoy his caresses, or tussle with him over a prize and then fall into the furs in a heated embrace...she could feel her heart crying out in response to his torment.

Lifting her head, she let out a throaty cry of sorrow, trailing off into a choked sob. Folded in upon herself, she quietly struggled to master her tears. _You've lost one lover, but your mate waits for you. Live with the life you have made, and stop crying about it._

Finally she dragged herself up, walking slowly back to where she had dropped the doe. Picking it up, she made her way down the hill, depositing it inside the front door of Nightingale hall. A pathetic offering in her mind, but the only thing she could think to do at the moment. Dry eyed and mustering resolution she didn't presently feel, she slowly made her way back to Honeyside. Another night of restless, lonely tossing in her bed. _A bed of my own making. Now sleep in it, you fucking milkdrinker. _


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five-Broken**

With Brynjolf noticeably absent from the underground hideout of the Guild, Laurelin found herself in the Flagon or Cistern almost exclusively for the next few days. She read reports, examined the ledgers, wrote missives to various contacts throughout the realm, and arranged for a few new ventures to be funded. All while waiting for Bryn to return.

He had left everything neat and complete, and she didn't find much that truly required her attention. So she played the games with her Guild mates, enjoying the confidence and skill that had spread throughout the once sullen, under-appreciated members. She strutted about the Cistern wearing dozens of purses with small amounts of gold in some, wooden token for drinks in others. Everyone tried to make off with as many purses as they could grab without detection. What they stole and got away with, they were allowed to keep.

Hiding her anguish over hurting Brynjolf, in addition to her hurt feelings about a few of the accusations he had leveled at her, wasn't easy. Good thieves were observant, and none failed to notice that Laure and Bryn were not _vacationing_ together as they usually did. Still she tried to ease any worries with the mask of a merry den mother, all smiles and delight. Only some of it was feigned; she loved her brothers and sisters in crime and truly wanted to see them prosper.

Delvin and Vex were the only two that came right out and asked, sniffing out the trouble between their Guild Master and her second in command.

"He's coming back, right?" Vex demanded sharply one night, over a mug of dark beer.

"Of course. He needed a break, from what I understand. He'll be back when he's ready."

"He better, if he knows what's good for him."

Laure flicked her gaze from Delvin to Vex. "He didn't like some of the news I brought him, and I can't stay long unfortunately. I need to leave as soon as we hear back from our people about my tail. I'm sorry; I wish I had better news."

"So are _you_ ever coming back for more than a day or two?" When Laure just lifted her shoulder a little sadly, Vex threw up her pale hands in disgust. "Maybe you don't, but I _do_ remember the last time one of our masters got ahead of their self and nearly destroyed the whole thing single handed. Reassure me this won't happen again."

Delvin finally spoke up, "Now now, Vex. You know the Boss'd never betray us. Don't go comparin' her to the likes of Mercer. Look around and see what we've all done since our previous guild master left us broke and stabbed in the back." He stared Vex down, continuing, "You and I both know how many jobs boss here ran for us back then. Ran. On her own two feet. How many times you run across Skyrim, pet?" he asked, turning to Laure.

"Far too many times. Dozens at least," she admitted. "Unfortunately, this Dragonborn business is keeping me busier than I would like. It's a difficult thing to balance, but I can protect the Guild more from a distance. If I'm still blatantly working with the Guild, I can't use my status to help anymore. If I remain discrete, I can continue to aid our endeavors. At this point, given the leadership you two, Bryn, and Karliah provide, I think it's better that I remove myself from publicly being associated with the Guild."

Vex smirked and retorted, "Too good for the likes of us, says our illustrious Guild Master."

"I didn't say that," objected Laure with a frown. "No need to go putting words into my mouth."

The beautiful Imperial thief leaned back, draining her mug before forcefully planting the vessel on the battered tabletop. "What can I say? Just reading the scene, 'boss.' Can't say I like the script." With that she stood up and went back to the bar, talking with Vekel while she got her mug filled.

Delvin leaned over and murmured, "Don't mind her, pet. You know Vex, all piss and vinegar, all the time."

"Don't I know it. I'm going to get some air; see you soon." Laure drained her own mug and slipped out of the Flagon, heading up into the chilly night air.

* * *

After nearly a week hiatus, even Laure was wondering if Bryn had plans to come back to the Guild. She had briefly met with Maven, played every game with the lads and lasses, practiced her quite rusty pickpocketing skills, done everything in her power to keep her mind from drifting to the missing ginger-haired rogue. Her own pain was somewhat diminished to a sharp ache down in her heart. She knew Bryn would recover, realized he had been surprised and overwhelmed by the news she brought to him, and was trying to respect his need for time by not tracking him down, as much as she wanted to.

Not begrudging him the time he needed off from his duties, nor the time he took to come to terms with the new aspect of their relationship, Laure made sure everything ran smoothly in his absence. She just hoped he came back soon. She needed to get on the road, track down the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, or more precisely, travel to Riverwood and meet whoever had taken it from the tomb.

During the time Bryn was gone, several of their contacts sent word: None were able to track down the slightest bit of information on whoever was watching her. Biting her lip as she read the last missive, Laure cursed softly and dropped the letter onto the desk. This was the sixth message back with the same answer.

While she was standing there with palms pressed hard into the edges of the desk, several cries of greeting rang out. Glancing up, she saw the tall, well muscled form she recognized so well stroll into the Cistern from the Flagon. Clad in his faded black armor, he strode in, hood slung low over his eyes. "Miss me much, lads?" he drawled to the room in general. His eyes never met Laure's, as he moved about the room, chatting easily with Cynric and Sapphire, giving Thrynn a friendly pat on the back.

Laurelin finished tidying up the desk while he moved about the room, knowing he would make his way over when he was finished. She was surprised when he stopped at the cookpot that always had something bubbling away in it, and served himself a bowl of stew rather than come around her way.

Several of the thieves noted how he sat with his back to her and hadn't even nodded a greeting to her. Quiet looks flashed back and forth between them as Bryn sat down and began methodically spooning the contents of his bowl into his mouth, hood still up, covering his eyes.

Laure ran out of things to shuffle around on the scuffed desktop, so she moved around it toward the table where Bryn sat. Abruptly, he stood up and walked away, leaving his unfinished bowl where it sat. She moved to intercept him, not content to let him continue avoiding her now that he was back. As if realizing suddenly that he couldn't evade her for long down here, he came to a stop, shoulders back, hands on his cocked hips, head tilted. The posture was so familiar, Laure wanted to launch herself at him and squeeze him hard. She opened her arms, hoping to see the flash of his smile and wicked green eyes, have him tell her that he understood, and they were as they always were, remarkable friends and partners.

As she stepped closer, arms wide to embrace him, to apologize for hurting him, he turned away, sidestepping, finally addressing her for the first time since he had returned.

"Sorry, lass, I've important things to do. We'll speak another time." With that he moved away, sauntering over to the short hallway that lead to the practice room, without a backward glance. Dumbfounded, Laure stood with arms outstretched, shock keeping her frozen harder than the effigy of Nocturnal at her back. Finally lowering her arms, she ignored the sad, confused looks flying between the thieves nearby and marched past, resolutely trying not to burst into angry, hurt tears in front of them.

* * *

Once outside the Cistern, Laurelin made directly for the nearest city gate. Her thoughts were spinning in turmoil around her head. _Why are you surprised he is pushing you away? _she asked herself_. But we had an understanding! He was never hurt by any of the others! But you never went and formed an emotional bond with them, let alone mated your spirit wolf to another werewolf. It was too much. I tried to show him some of the benefits and he called me a monster. Yes, now he reviles you for your actions as well as your blood. That isn't true, he does not revile you. Why should he? I never made promises I couldn't keep. In his heart, he couldn't keep that same promise. He tried._ She argued back and forth with herself.

She picked up her pace as the guards pushed the gate closed behind her. Soon she was trotting, heading away from Riften, an undefined urge to hunt pulling her onward. Although she had nothing more than the armor on her back and a small dagger, the wolf growled in the back of her mind, _what use, your tiny fang of iron? Use your own fangs, wet your claws with blood..._

Laurelin realized that the full moon was upon her once more as she raced into the night. She had barely noted the shift in the cycles, tucked away in the Cistern as she had been. Trying to keep it together for the sake of everyone else. Heart pounding, blood hot and demanding in her veins but not quite ready to surrender to her change, Laure ran, biting back the relief that would come by changing, the welcome lack of worry, guilt, pain. She ran, letting her mind wander over the course her life was taking, where she was headed, but all that was fogged. Too many paths forked just in front of her. All she had wanted and planned for was broken beyond repair, but that did not leave her without hope. The course had changed to be sure and wasn't the road she thought she would be on, but her life and her mate were still ahead of her._ Vilkas!_

She had missed him intensely during her stay in Riften. Even in the aftermath of her falling out with Bryn, she had thought about him, worried, fantasized. She couldn't help herself; she longed to feel his strong arms wrap around her, to gaze into his beautiful silver-gray eyes, lose her mind in his kisses.

_Vilkas!_ Her mind cried out, instinctively reaching out for his comfort while still trying to come to terms with how much Bryn turning his back on her hurt. His voice kept repeating parts of their last conversations. _We'll speak another time. Monster. Important things to do. Beautiful monster. No time, bloody werewolf...hardly know you. Blood thirsty, man-eating monster_. She tore on through the woods, racing heart setting the pace for the swirl of her heated thoughts, while she tried to keep the wolf at bay. The wolf that demanded she give in to the call of the blood, to the alluring moon song. _Hunt!_ Demanded the wolf inside her. _Release us and hunt_.

She opened her clenched jaw to shout out a denial and a howl escaped instead. Her joints itched and burned as her control over the beast started to slip, then _his_ sonorous, warm voice filled her mind, _I won't let go!_ She came to a halt, gasping for breath, creating clouds of fog that swirled about her before drifting out to dissipate in the cold air. She fell to hers knees, hands buried in the grass while she came to terms. Yes she loved Brynjolf, but she was not _in_ love with him. He had successfully broken through the sheer walls of chilly indifference she had protected her self behind for long decades. She would always feel somewhat indebted to him and be thankful for his love. But she had not lied to him nor willingly toyed with his emotions. She had never been so cold-hearted, even when she first met him. Yet time had a way of altering everything. Bryn may never forgive her for hurting him, but she would still treasure her memories; and maybe, just maybe, some day they could move past the weird awkwardness of the present.

The searing pain in her bones was becoming overwhelming, but Laure finally felt ready to embrace her change. Struggling to undo all the buckles in her haste, Laure managed to get out of her boots and most of her leather cuirass before the fur started sprouting. Her snug leather pants were suddenly unbearably tight, the stitching on the sides popping free in quiet rips. She hastily unbuckled the last strap of her chest armor and yanked it open, tearing the tough leather with her growing claws. The trousers gave and fell away in large scraps, to be joined by the cuirass seconds later.

She didn't give more than a moment's thought to how easily this change had swept over her body; instead, she lifted her snout and bayed her sorrow and grief to the bright moons, her howl tapering off to a low, rumbling growl deep in her chest. Rising up to her full height, she roared again, mind calling across the leagues to her mate, to her moon-brothers. Swiveling her head, she let her nose lead her northwest, toward home. Toward Vilkas. Claws tearing the soil, she set off at a gallop. _Vilkas_.

She let her nose and the moons guide her, lead her back to where she would find others of her kind. She raced onward, taking down and feasting on any beast foolish enough to linger on her path. Her hunger was unspeakably powerful; and with each kill, after she had gorged on their hearts, she found herself salivating for more. She prowled over mountains, through forests, trying to sate her insatiable thirst.

The smell of old blood, charred wood, broken stone and hopes drifted across her nose, overlaid by the scent of men. From a nearby outcropping, Laure sniffed, saliva running over her jaws. In the ruins of Helgen, a number of bandits had taken up residence. She howled, listening for a moment to the sounds of the bandits' terror as they skittered about, arming themselves.

She backed up, tamping down her hind paws, then launched herself up the wall, scrambling easily up the sides, claws tearing deep into the charred timbers. Sitting astride the wall, she howled again, watching in satisfaction as those who had been rushing toward her turned and fled. It was more satisfying that they run. Blood pounding hot and urgent in her veins, she leaped off the wall and into the place she had nearly lost her head not so long ago.

* * *

The bandits soon found that hiding behind walls and barricades did nothing to prolong their lives. They were the prey being stalked and taken down one by one. Few had ever seen a werewolf, and none had ever heard of the pale, blue-eyed creature that stalked them now. They tried to organize defenses against it, but it never attacked from the direction they thought it would.

The huge wolf creature would melt out of the shadows one moment, maul one of their number, and slip away before the rest could even react. They quickly came to realize it was toying with them, slowly reducing their numbers and strength. It left the torn bodies behind, sprawling limp on the stones, a grim reminder of the fate of them all. Several of their number were barricaded up in the tower, but they had exhausted their supply of arrows early on and now were reduced to shouting and cursing, trying to spot the menace and warn their fellows down below.

It bayed again, the force of the call enough to shake the timbers, near enough to startle the five remaining men and women into flight, despite their intentions of standing and fighting. The bloodcurdling roar tapered off to a low rumbling growl, and suddenly moonlit fury landed in their midst. A handful of broken-off arrow shafts stuck up from its pale hide, and here or there a dark smear of its own blood dampened its fur, but it seemed unfazed by the defense put up by their best mage-now dead-and some of their best fighters. Even the chief of the group felt his knees go weak when it looked them all over and huffed in a way that could not be mistaken for anything but what it was. A _chuckle_ of amusement.

* * *

Laure couldn't help herself. These people who preyed on those weaker than themselves now knew what it was like to be preyed upon. She reached up and deliberately pulled each arrow out of her flesh, feeling it begin to knit shut again nearly immediately. When she had all of them, she flung the broken, bloodied shafts out in a flat arc. The bandits flinched and dropped back, weapons ready, all of them praying fervently for salvation.

She decided she would finish these remaining bandits off and then she would be nearly home. Pouncing with both claws onto the nearest, she tore out his throat with one bite, then leaped to the next. Spurred on by the taste of their blood, she tore through the remaining foes with furious glee. Her urge to feast on them was fierce but she managed to restrain herself.

The bandit chief stood before her, steel sword and shield between her and him. The breeze was picking up, the sky beginning to lighten in the east, when a familiar scent wafted across her sensitive nose. The smell of home and comfort. Distracted a moment, she didn't notice the man in front of her step forward and attack. Laure caught the blow on her forearm and received a heavy hit from the shield on her shoulder. Attention dragged back to her last foe, she howled straight into his face, watched him go white, shoulders pivoting to turn and flee. She caught him in both claws, lifting him easily, even with her wounded arm, and squeezed his throat.

Two answering howls echoed just outside the walls, and still Laure tightened her grip, ignoring the flailing of the man's arms and kicking legs. With a grunt she squeezed, feeling tiny bones being crushed and giving, then gave a little twist, and the bandit chief's head popped off in a gout of blood. She stood panting, holding the neck of the twitching corpse, and watched as two shadows leaped the walls and stalked toward her, sniffing.

Inky fur covered the thick hides of the two werewolves approaching, but she knew their scent. She held out her latest kill, offering them the heart that had just stopped beating. They both shook shaggy heads, not wanting any of it. Laure dipped her head, sniffed, licked the sweet, salty blood. She would eat this heart and feel no remorse.

Before she could feast though, a heavy body hit hers, slamming her back, making her drop her prize. His hugely muscled body bore her to the ground, where they rolled together. Laure felt rage boil to the surface in an instant, brought her defenses back up, she snapped furiously at his throat. He was a giant of a werewolf, easily pinning her wrists and body to the ground, an angry snarl of his own slipping past glinting white fangs. She struggled under him, tried to knee his groin, flip him off- anything, but he was immovable. His growl echoed loudly, mixed with her furious snarls, as he slammed her wrists and upper body against the ground, buried his muzzle under her neck, jaws closing menacingly around her throat.

She whined, tail curling up between her legs as she submitted; feeling those razor sharp teeth pressing into her jugular, she went limp and turned up her throat. His jaws finally released her, and he gave her one last shake and a hard stare before pulling away. Laure whimpered piteously, then shuddered. Pushing her beast back behind its barricade, her natural shape quickly returned.

"Farkas, I'm so sorry I attacked you! Can you forgive me?" She cried as soon as she was able to speak. His hulking beast form came up and crouched beside her. He met her eyes and she saw the fury was gone, replaced by the pale sparkle of amusement in his eyes. She pushed a hand into the fur of his mane, scratching and rubbing his jaw. He nuzzled her softly and gave a content growl. Vilkas finished prowling the ruins for live foes and returned, loping back to where Laure was wrapped in their brother's long arms, sharing his warmth. His transformation back was complete by the time he reached them again, and he collected his love into his embrace and held her tight.

"What was all of this about?" he asked, using his chin to gesture out to the ruins about them, not wanting to use his hands when they felt so good holding her to him.

"The moon, the blood. And things didn't go well in Riften. It started out with me just hunting animals, but something about the bandits, and being here, it tipped me over some edge I didn't even see." She shuddered. "I was about to eat them all..."

"Good thing I stopped you then. Bandits never taste good anyhow." Farkas rumbled from behind them, back in his own still towering form. "Nice to see I was right; you're beautiful in your beast shape. Not that I don't think you are beautiful in human shape. Um. I mean elf. You know. Mer. Look, I'm just going to go put some clothes on..." he turned and marched away, leaving his twin and Laure biting back their amusement.

"I think a few of the women around here might have clothes you can wear," Vilkas ventured.

"I'll just wear one of your spare tunics if you don't mind, who knows when these ones last bathed. They could have _fleas_." She winked and grabbed his hand, tugging him along.

"Says one werewolf to another," Vilkas muttered quietly. Not so quietly that his mate couldn't hear and laugh. They caught up with Farkas not far down the hill, and if anyone saw two large Nord men flanking a tall Bosmer woman as they strode naked down the mountainside, few would ever admit that somehow, nothing scared them more than the bare, unarmed, unconcerned trio.

* * *

Farkas and Vilkas had dropped their packs within sight of the river. Gathering up clothing and gear, the three Companions made a small camp by the rushing water draining from Lake Illinalta. Vilkas dug in his pack for an undershirt, which Laure pulled over her head and wore like a short shift.

"What were you two doing all the way out here?" she asked the twins while they donned their own clothes.

"We were both restless, and since it has been a long time we hunted together, we decided to head out," Vilkas replied, lacing up his trousers.

"He was pacing and chewing off his fingernails." Farkas interjected.

"Something was pulling me out, aye, beyond the normal call of the moon. I think I understand though. How far away were you when you changed, Laurelin?" He sat down behind her, pulling her close to his chest, and she settled in, listening to the reassuring thump of his heart.

"A few miles outside of Riften, I think. Not exactly positive." She pulled his lean, powerful arms closer about her shoulders, nuzzled his arms, inhaling his distinct scent.

"I think I was feeling the call of your wolf spirit to mine, then. I never realized it could reach so far. If indeed that is what I was feeling."

"I _was_ missing you, I wanted to see you. I was heading home when I got sidetracked up there." she admitted.

"To Breezehome?"

"Aye, that too." Even though she was clad only in a thin shift, with his arms around her, she felt as warm as if she wore furs. She caught a glimpse of the tiny curve of Farkas' lips. "What is on your mind, brother?"

"You two just look sweet together. It makes me happy to see Vilkas smile like he is now." Vilkas may not have realized it up to that point, but his lips had indeed been lifted up into a near perfect match to Farkas' smile. He sat back, cradling Laurelin close, not trying to conceal his content smirk.

They camped out by the river, the three of them napping several hours in the growing light.

* * *

Laure stretched, feeling warm and cozy. Farkas had taken first watch, then snuggled into the furs when Vilkas got up, slowly disentangling himself from Laure's arms and legs, trying not to wake the exhausted Bosmer. In spite of his caution, Laure grumbled, then flipped over and tossed a leg over Farkas, who caught her thigh in his giant hand and held in in place, one arm snaking under her shoulders to pull her closer. Sighing contently, she drifted back to sleep cuddled up with her shield-brother while Vilkas kept watch.

When she awoke, there were several fat salmon roasting in the coals of the fire next to a few blackening potatoes, and Vilkas was oiling and cleaning his armor, humming softly to himself as he worked. From where she lay, still pressed close to Farkas, she watched Vilkas through hooded eyes. His square jaw was relaxed, lips pressed together, but not in his usual hard expression. He would work intently for long moments, then lift his gaze to the hills, let it skip across the river to a pair of deer, or linger on a cloud formation a while, before returning to his task.

Her own gaze roamed over his wide shoulders and broad chest, taking in every sculpted line of his finely muscled physique with appreciative eyes. Following the curve of his back, down to his narrow hips, skimming over his long legs...

"Are you going to get up or lay here and eye-fuck my brother all day?" Farkas asked softly, sleepy amusement evident in his voice, while his arm tightened around her.

"He's gorgeous. I think I'll eye-fuck him for a while. At least until he starts getting all grumpy."

"Shouldn't be long then," observed the younger twin. He was enjoying the feel of her fingers curled into the hair of his chest under his shirt.

"I _can_ hear the both of you," the brother in question chimed in, a small smile twitching across his lips.

"See, not long at all." Farkas moved to sit up as his older brother threw the oily rag at his brothers face. Farkas slapped it aside and sprang from the furs, launched himself at Vilkas, where they tumbled to the ground, wrestling, slapping, laughing and calling names.

Laure watched in amusement. With them both unshaven, hair wildly askew, and in street clothes instead of armor, the two laughing men looked even more alike than usual. Reaching forward, she snagged a whole salmon and sat back, plucking small morsels of delicious, hot fish and savoring them, all the while eye-fucking the twins from the comfort of the furs. Simple pleasures made life worth living.

* * *

"Want to go back up to Helgen with me?" she asked the twins later. They had tumbled and wrestled for the better part of an hour, only stopping when they finally found themselves in the wet gravel and sand, right at the river's edge.

"Why do you want to go back there?" Farkas wanted to know immediately.

"I feel like maybe it wasn't an accident I ended up there. I would like to go up and see it with clearer eyes and mind than last night."

"I suppose you are right. I'm ready when you are. But Farkas or myself should be heading back to Jorrvaskr soon," Vilkas intoned. His hair was wild, face flushed still from his impromptu wrestling match with Farkas. He was strangely content, but he knew it was time to get back to work.

The three of them loaded up the little gear they had and started the hike back up to Helgen. The last time Laure had been through its walls, it had been full of families and commerce. Before the black dragon had descended, and brought ruin in its wake. Now its walls were charred and broken, the only lives lived there were those of lawless rabble who preyed off those unwary enough to stumble in.

"I was never supposed to be here," she murmured, looking up at the tumbles of stone and blackened wooden beams. It had been less than a year since that fateful day she had rolled through it's gates, bound and dazed. "How much different would my life be right now if I had crossed the border a day later, or sooner, or in a different place? Would it have mattered? Perhaps I might never have learned of being the instrument of the gods. Maybe it would have only delayed the eventual knowledge until it was too late." Vilkas' warm fingers wrapped around hers, giving comfort. Together they walked back in, looking around the empty settlement. Farkas was already turning over bodies and examining dropped weapons.

Laurelin had never come back to the scene of a battle the next day in spite of her years of combat and travel. Vilkas wandered a short distance away while Laure circled the corpses she had created. She still felt no remorse for killing them. They lived outside the law, which didn't bother her so much as the nature of the life lived. She had come across enough travelers dead or wounded by the roadsides to know that the bandits took what they wanted at sword point, and only if one was very fortunate did the victim escape with life intact. Still, the looks on these men and woman's faces as they had died put her in a strange mood. Being _here_ put her in a strange mood.

Both sides of the civil war had high-placed officials here that day, at this random town, had opportunities to help the Dragonborn, regardless of them not knowing she was such. Instead, one side had tried to chop off her head while the other had left her to run with bound hands through an inferno. Her steps carried her to the chopping block that, curiously enough, was still sitting in the courtyard where they had all been gathered.

Farkas watched with some concern as she dropped to her knees in front of the block, and laid her head on it. Her eyes were trained on the top of the now-leaning tower not far away. "He landed right there, the black dragon. His eyes _burned_ with hatred, and he looked right at me and Shouted. He saved me, that dragon did. The headsman was about to cleave my head off with a great, bloody axe. All I could see was a bloody axe and then there he was, nightmare incarnate. Do I thank him or curse him?" She sat up and pointed to the charred skull in front of the block. "That could have been mine. He died well, speaking of his ancestors, not begging for his life." The enormity of the precious few seconds that had changed her life was overwhelming.

"It must have been terrible, thinking you were about to die and not being able to do anything about it," Farkas observed in his gruff voice. "I don't remember ever being that kind of helpless, although Vilkas remembers before Jurgen found us. He doesn't like to talk about it much. I don't think I would care for it either."

Squatting down beside Laure, he wrapped a long arm around her. "What's really on your mind?"

She laughed sharply. "Other than dragons awakening for the first time in centuries, being chosen to slay them and having my life turned upside-down? Why nothing, dear one."

"Not that. Something other than that and the blood has you down. I can tell.

"Come on, lets look around and see if we can find you some clothes. I'll even help wash them, if you want. You can tell me what's on your mind while we loot. I mean pillage. You know what I mean."

Laure couldn't help herself. The poor lad really just wanted her to feel better. She smiled and allowed herself to be steered around, looking for clothes without too many tears or gashes that would fit while she filled him in on some of her time in Riften. They made a small pile of clothes and another of valuables they would divide up. Vilkas continued looking over the ruins, delving into the buildings of the keep while Laure and Farkas sat down and began stitching up trousers and tunic for her to wear.

"It's a good thing you both carry these little sewing kits in your packs," she observed, swiftly sewing up a long tear.

"Never know when you might need to sew something up on the road. We learned a long time ago it was learn to sew or go naked sometimes. It was tough to convince the town guards I was mugged for all of my clothes. So all this was really just over a guy, huh?" the big man grunted as he threaded a needle.

"Well, that would be the short version, but largely, aye." She bit the thread with her sharp teeth and nodded. "He didn't have an easy time when I showed him my beast form."

"Why'd you show him that?" came Farkas' blunt query.

"I...we...I thought he needed to know. We were such close friends. I didn't want to keep secrets from him."

"'Him' was this Brynjolf you told me about, yeah?" Laure nodded, focused on her stitches. Farkas continued, "I knew I didn't like his city boy smell. Goes to show, you never can trust a thief."

Laure froze, eyes wide. "Thief?" she asked carefully. His bright silver-gray eyes met hers, a serious frown knitting his brow.

"You heard me. I know a thief when I smell one. He reeked of lies and sour milk. I'm glad you don't smell like him-like that-anymore." He tossed her the trousers he had been taking in and stood, stretching his arms and shoulders. Laure was at a loss for words, so she slipped into her makeshift clothes, thoughts swirling madly about her.

If Farkas knew that Brynjolf was a thief, then there was a spider-silk thread slender chance that Vilkas didn't know as well. She groaned in dismay at the thought.

"So did he scream like a little girl when you changed?" he wanted to know, a slightly malicious look gleaming dangerously in his eye.

Laure chuckled, "No, dear one. He actually took that part remarkably well. It was when I told him about you and Vilkas that he became upset."

"Well that's stupid. Any idiot can see you still care about him. Milk drinker needs to learn how to cope. Didn't you tell him about the good stuff?"

"I tried, sweetness. I wanted to reassure him, but everything came out wrong, I guess. Truly, I think he could have accepted it all, until I told him we hunt together."

"So, city boy doesn't hunt eh?"

"Not if he doesn't have to, no."

The gleam in Farkas' eyes was positively wicked now. "That's the problem. He knows you hunt, how much you enjoy it. It's part of who you are, and as a limp-wristed milk drinker, he knows you two don't share this one thing. Now you've gone and found a whole brotherhood of hunters. A brotherhood he has no part of. You won't ever share that with him. I bet he feels he's losing you to the Companions." He stopped his rambling when he realized Laure was gaping at him with wonder.

"What now? Fur in my ears still?" His fingers shot up to pat around his head, searching for stray tufts of fuzz. She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. They stayed that way, standing cheek to cheek, watching over each others shoulders, hearts pressed near, until Vilkas strode back into sight.

A pair of leather boots dangled from one hand, a clinking sack from the other. "I think I may have found footwear for you, love. I hope they fit."

She sat down to try them on, and it turned out they fit passing well. Dressed and shod again, Laure turned to see what else Vilkas had brought with him.

He upended the sack, crouching on his haunches. "I think these are enchanted," he said, picking up a pair of steel gauntlets and a silver circlet with moonstones set in it. "I also found this." From over his shoulder he drew a long, tooled leather and silver chased tube. He passed it over to Laure who pried the cap off and drew out a gleaming ebony bow.

"I thought you would be best carrying that; bows are your strong suit, not mine." She blinked happy tears away as she examined the beautiful weapon.

Farkas looked the bow over, whistling low and appreciative. "This is masterfully made. Hey!" He jumped to his feet, striding to the pile of scrounged items to dig briefly through. "I found these; they probably went with that bow!" In his hand was a full quiver of matching ebony arrows, which he lightly tossed her way before dropping back down onto his haunches.

Laure examined the arrows and found them soundly made. While she checked the fletching, Farkas rumbled on, "I think I saw the chest you got the bow out of, brother. Couldn't find a key so I left it."

"I couldn't find a key either, Farkas, so I improvised." He paused a moment and said with a small smile, "with a _warhammer_." Laure and Farkas fell over laughing together, wiping tears away when they noted Vilkas' confused, mildly irritated expression. "I've plainly missed something. What is so bloody funny?"

"Never-ahaha-a bloody thief around when you need one!" Farkas cried out, clutching his sides.

Vilkas, understanding they were laughing about something else and not him, smiled and waited patiently for the mirth to play out. They would tell him when ready.

* * *

A little while later, the laughter had died down, and Vilkas found himself wondering about something else. Finally he asked carefully, "So, did you leave Roast at Riften? Or did something happen to her?"

Laure chuckled at his cautious manner. "Roast was alive and well, getting fat in the stables when I left. I suppose I could send a letter and have Iona bring her around to Whiterun."

"No need, there are a few jobs that need doing out that way, I'll have one of the whelps bring her back when they return. Should we stop in Riverwood on the way back?"

Laure shook her pale head. "No, I would rather go in prepared, at least have my armor and weapons. Another day is hardly going to matter at this point."

"All right then, we should get going. The stench of this place is appalling." Vilkas crinkled his sharp nose as another whiff of the odor in question drifted by.

"I would like to gather as many of the bodies as possible and burn them before we go. I don't feel right leaving these out for the scavengers. They may not have been good people, but they were people, and deserve this much at least."

Farkas and Vilkas didn't try to argue with her. Instead they helped round up every body they could, then built a huge fire. Laure set the skull of the Nord who had died just before she was led to the block on the top of the pile. It was a small gesture, but one she felt she needed to make. It was late afternoon before the flames had died back, small breezes stirring eddies of ash here and there. Finally, the Bosmer woman turned, ready to depart.

"Let's get back home; I need a mug, a bath and a hot meal." She looped her arm through Vilkas' and slapped Farkas' broad shoulder. "You sexy beasts ready?"

"Been waiting on you." Together they headed down river, back toward home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six- Third Time's A Charm**

It felt good to be home. Within the cozy walls of Breezehome, Laure and Vilkas rested a few days, waiting for Aela and Athis to return from the Rift, hopefully bringing Roast back with them. Laurelin had filled Vilkas in on her failure to find any further information about her watcher. It disturbed him that there were no clues, but he was still adamant that the Horn needed to be returned. Laurelin agreed, but she wasn't in a hurry to walk into a potential trap. Nor was she keen on the idea that somebody was simply toying with her.

While they waited for Aela and Athis, Laure and Vilkas began the task of trying to get Torvar out of the rut he was stuck in. With quiet support from the others, they began taking him out on patrols and giving him small jobs, requiring that he be sober. At first he protested that he could fight just as well inebriated as not; but Farkas, Laure and Vilkas stayed firm.

"You're always saying you want to go out on jobs," Farkas rumbled to the blond Nord standing before him on shaky legs. "Great. Your job right now is to prove to us you can do them without being sauced."

"What my brother is trying to say is that you still need to prove yourself capable of doing the tasks ahead of you to our satisfaction," Vilkas added, hand resting on Torvar's slumped shoulder. "This is your chance to prove yourself. Are you going to let it slip away, or will you take it and make your life, fill it with glory and honor?"

Laurelin came up and lifted his chin with one finger so he had to look her in her pale, penetrating eyes. "I have seen you fight, brother. You have skills that are being ill used right now. Put aside the reliance on drink; you don't need it. We will all be here to help. But the final decision is yours. You can be a Companion, or you can be a drunk. What will you be, Torvar?"

His bleary eyes focused on hers. "Do I have to stop drinking entirely? I don't know if I can handle being sober when you lot are all living it up in celebration."

"I think it would be best if you refrained as much as possible until the habit of drink is broken. I see nothing wrong in the occasional drunken revel. That is how we tend to celebrate, you're correct. It just can't be every day."

"I...I'll try. For you three if nothing else." He sighed heavily.

"You will do this. For yourself, before any one else. That's what counts." Farkas gave him a heavy, friendly pat on the shoulder, which staggered the slighter man, and led him out to the practice yard. "Let's go have a little match before breakfast, get the blood flowing."

Laure and Vilkas watched Torvar being led away a moment, then turned to each other. "That went better than I anticipated," Vilkas observed. "Now we just get him confident and satisfied, don't let him fall into his old habits, and we just might make a worthy fighter of him."

"Easier said than done, love. He already feels like the Companions were his last chance to make something of himself. If he fails at this, I fear where he will end up out of his own sense of remorse and worthlessness."

"Don't fret over him, lovely. Farkas is perfect for this kind of job. He's gentle and sympathetic, yet Torvar will not be able to manipulate my brother as he might others. With time, he'll make improvements." He leaned forward and brushed her lips with his own, his fingers curling into her short hair. His kiss sent chills up and down her spine as she pressed herself closer.

"Good gods, you two get a damned room!" Njada called out as she came up the stairs. "I swear every time I see you two, you're lip-locked together." She sat down and began tearing into the food Tilma was setting out.

"That is a fine idea, shield-sister." Vilkas picked his mate up and threw her over his shoulder and marched for the stairs purposefully. Laurelin winked at Njada while giving Vilkas a few half- hearted thumps on his shoulders.

"Put me down, I can walk..." she objected with a broad grin.

"All in good time...all in good time," came his even reply.

* * *

Vilkas pushed the door open and stood aside, his back to the door so Laurelin could enter first. The inn was a small, neatly kept establishment, largely unoccupied at this early hour of the afternoon. The two Companions glanced about, but the only people present were the man behind the counter and a Breton woman with graying blonde hair, who pushed a pile of dirt across the floor with a straw broom.

Laurelin stepped up to the counter, ordering mead for her and Vilkas. As the man served them, she ventured, "Well met. Are you the proprietor of this charming inn, serah?"

The man shook his head, "Name's Orgnar, I just help out. Delphine over there owns the place." He nodded to the blond pushing the broom by the firepit. He slid two mugs over the counter and scooped up the coins laid on its planks. Laure sipped her drink and swiveled to face the Breton.

"I need to rent a room. I've heard from a friend the attic room comes highly recommended." Vilkas was still facing the bar, keeping an eye on Orgnar while Laurelin talked to the owner, just in case the man decided to try anything.

The owner stopped sweeping, her lightly lined face unreadable as she replied, "Attic room, eh? Well... we don't have an attic room, but you can have the one on the left. Make yourself at home." With that, she turned back to her sweeping.

Laure and Vilkas eyed each other over the rims of their mugs. Laure finished her mead, spun another handful of coin across the counter to Orgnar, and led Vilkas to the room on the left. He closed the door behind him and leaned his solid back against it, arms folded over his chest. His dark brow lifted in unspoken question.

Catching his look, not needing words, Laurelin sighed. "I don't know either, maybe my 'friend' isn't here at the moment. Unless..." she snapped her fingers and at that moment a quiet knock came at the door. Vilkas moved to unsheathe his sword in the tiny room, but Laure shook her head. Slowly swinging the door open he peered out suspiciously. The blue clad owner was standing there, holding a small pile of linens.

"For the bed, may I come in?"

"Of course, fresh linen is always welcome. My thanks," came Laurelin's immediate response, while Vilkas moved out of the way. "Delphine, was it? You look familiar, though I can't place where we might have met before."

"I've owned and operated this inn for years. Perhaps you have stayed here before."

"This is my first time staying here, else I might have known there isn't an attic room. Perhaps you might explain a few things to me. Such as why a letter might reach me in a very out of the way place and recommend your attic room as being a good place to recover an item I seek. A room that apparently doesn't exist." Laure's smile was tight and didn't reach her eyes, but did show off her white, very sharp teeth.

"Ah...so you _are_ the Dragonborn everyone has been talking about." Delphine reached into the linens, removed an ancient curved hunting horn, and held it out to Laurelin. "I believe this is what you are looking for, aye?" Laure took it in her palms and turned it over, inspecting it before tucking it into her pack.

"Well, thank you for the merry bit of fuckery that was. We'll be going now; as it turns out, your beds look too small for my lover and I, and Jorrvaskr has better accommodations. Keep the gold."

"Wait, we need to talk!" cried Delphine, hands out, trying to slow the tall mer sidling past.

"No, we don't. I do 'need' to return this horn to it's rightful owners though, and thanks to you, I've been too long about it. Now if you don't mind."

"Don't you want to know why I went in and took that before you could get to it?"

"Not really interested, no."

Delphine moved to stop Laurelin, but a wordless snarl from Vilkas stayed her hand. "Please, this is important, we need to speak. A few moments of your time is all I ask."

"Fine, I would absolutely _love_ to hear what you have to say." Laurelin crossed her arms, leaning against the wardrobe. "It had better be worth the time and gold I spent trying to figure out who was trying to get me here."

"Not here, follow me." Delphine turned and walked through the common room, leading Laure and Vilkas into her room. "Close the door," she said in hushed tones to Vilkas, who was stabbing glances about the room, looking for threats. When he closed it, she turned to her wardrobe and opened it. Reaching back through the cabinet, she pushed open a hidden panel, revealing a staircase descending into a cellar or basement.

Weary of the cloak and dagger games, Laure shrugged and followed the Breton downstairs. Vilkas followed without word, ready to draw his sword at a moment's notice. Neither was sure how important the information this woman had really was, but they were about to find out.

Irritated by the delays, eager to get on to the long climb up the Throat of the World, Laurelin followed the short Breton woman into the basement, feeling Vilkas' warmth at her back, while Delphine crossed to a table with a map on it and spread her palms flat on its surface, leaning forward as she fixed a serious eye on Laure.

"The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn. I hope they're right."

"Odd as it may seem, they appear to be correct."

"I hope they are. But you'll forgive me if I don't assume that something's true just because the Greybeards say so. I just handed you the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Does that make me Dragonborn, too?"

"I could set you on _fire_ with the power of my Thu'um. Can you do the same?" Laure asked sweetly, her tight, sharp-toothed smile back in place.

Delphine blinked and smiled nervously. "Look, I'm not your enemy! I just handed you the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, didn't I? I'm trying to help, but you never can be too cautious, Thalmor spies are everywhere these days."

"So you think the Harbinger of the Companions is a Thalmor spy? Interesting. Where do you get your information? I would fire that person, hire better informants." Laurelin's eyes were flicking about, taking in the details of the room while she tried to check her temper.

"I never suspected the Harbinger of the Companions would be the Dragonborn. Just hear me out; my caution is born of years of hiding out. The Thalmor would love to learn my whereabouts."

"Still not seeing how I figure in all of this. I think I should be going, this is a waste of my time."

Laure turned to leave, and Delphine leaned further forward, her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I shouldn't let you walk out of here, knowing what you know. But I guess even my-"

Laurelin leaned in herself, teeth bared, "Do you truly think you could stop me? And what am I supposed to know? You haven't told me anything _yet_." She let a hint of the power of her Thu'um resonate in her last word, just enough to tip over the potion bottles on the alchemy table in the corner. The Breton leaned back, unable to ignore how her threat had been answered.

Trying a new tactic, the innkeeper patted the air with her palms. "No need to get worked up. My apologies. Can we please talk? There is much I need to tell you, and truly, I am not your enemy."

"You've said that twice now but given little evidence. Talk, then." Laurelin's eyes glinted, her lips pressed together in a small frown, but she waited, arms crossed to hear the rest of what the other woman had to tell. Soon, talk of the dragon burial mounds, and dragons returning from the dead had her complete attention.

* * *

Vilkas listened in amazement as his Bosmer mate calmly offered to set the strange woman, Delphine, on fire. Granted, the Breton woman was now demanding Laurelin ride halfway across Skyrim to slay a dragon, thereby proving her standing as Dragonborn. Worse yet, the woman clearly had no idea what she was asking of his lover. To him, it seemed presumptuous to ask for help slaying a near mythical beast but offer so little for the favor given. No, it seemed beyond presumptuous.

This Delphine was the woman had gone into Ustengrav and single-handedly brought out the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, all in order to position Laurelin where she could be observed. Now, all Delphine wanted was further proof, in the form of one trifling, small, dead dragon. _It's a good thing the innkeeper kept her expectations small, otherwise she might be disappointed_, he thought to himself.

He could tell his partner was holding her temper tightly in check. With the amount of stress she had been through, thinking an unknown foe or rival was keeping tabs on her, she had been on edge for several weeks now. Finding out all the caution and worry had been for nothing only seemed to have irritated her further. The added factor of the beast blood only made it more difficult, but she was learning how to deal with the fire of her spirit, both from the blood and her dragon soul. He had watched her flounder under the weight of it all and had worried it was too much.

Yet she was bearing up underneath it all and was close to achieving a balance at last. The hot rage was being tempered into an ever more lethal weapon, but a weapon that refused to be manipulated without cause. He listened to the two women verbally spar back and forth initially, then settle into more reasonable tones as Delphine slowly spit out her story.

Eventually, his mate turned to him from Delphine, a neutral expression on her face. "Well, it seems that in order to prove that I'm not a Thalmor plant, and indeed the Dragonborn, I need to go do this. And as much as I dislike the song and dance that went with this farce, I think she may have the right of this. We need more information, and my curiosity is piqued. Will Farkas and Aela be able to manage without you for the next week or so?"

"Of course they will. But are you jesting?" His quick mind discerning her intention to take him with her.

"What would I be jesting about, love?"

"You would have me at your side while we fight a dragon? I would be honored to battle next to you against such a foe!" His mind raced over a list of equipment he needed to round up before they left. "I would like to go home and get a few things before we leave. When will you depart?"

Laurelin looked to Delphine who grimaced, before saying, "Time is of the essence. I would like to be on the road as soon as you are ready, Companions. Today would be ideal; however, I realize you will need to prepare for such a journey. Will tomorrow at midday give you adequate time to assemble your gear?"

Laurelin nodded. "Tomorrow at midday. We can travel together. Meet us at the front gates of Whiterun. From there we'll ride to Kynesgrove."

"Excellent. I'll see you tomorrow," replied Delphine as they climbed the narrow stairs from the cellar into the Sleeping Giant Inn.

Vilkas followed Laurelin from the inn, mind whirling about. He was going to fight a dragon! Farkas would be tremendously jealous. Was his armor up to such a fight? Where had he put the damned helm of his wolf armor, anyway? Should he take shield and long-sword or his greatsword? They should stop and purchase extra arrows and healing potions...

His mate's melodic voice brought him from his reverie. " I'm going to speak to Alvor, love. I have the feeling I'm going to need plenty of extra arrows. You go ahead; I'll catch up soon, aye?"

"Of course, I'll see you soon, my love," he replied as he took her in his arms and pressed a kiss to her lips, not caring who saw them. He broke away with a smile, watched her eyes drift open again.

"Never soon enough, love," came her response, words that made his heart soar.

* * *

The next day, Laurelin and Vilkas finished packing and went over last-minute instructions for Aela and Farkas over breakfast. Everyone in the mead hall knew what the Harbinger and Vilkas were about to do. Farkas dearly wanted to join the expedition, but he knew he was needed here at Jorrvaskr. It wouldn't be fair to Torvar to get him started on his road to sobriety and then leave him alone while chasing off after glory. So Farkas and Aela would stay home and continue working the whelps while Laure and Vilkas went and did what needed to be done. How much glory they would bring from this experience remained to be seen.

Vilkas was full of questions on the way down to the front gates, hoping to fill in the gaps of his knowledge in regards to fighting and slaying dragons. Laure had to admit she didn't know much about them, mostly that the great creatures were, if nothing else, very difficult to kill. Only having fought two, she didn't feel as much like a dragon slaying expert as she did a novice tracker. She could only hope she survived long enough to become an experienced dragon hunter.

Delphine was lingering near the stables at the bottom of the hill, pacing to and fro. Wearing armor now instead of her street clothes, she cut an imposing figure, with her shoulders back and a strange, slender bladed longsword sheathed and slung over her shoulder. All hint of her being a simple innkeeper had vanished.

"Good morning, Delphine," called out Laurelin as they approached.

"Good, you're here. I was hoping I wouldn't need to come find you. We should leave immediately." Her horse was waiting, saddlebags bulging with supplies, bow and quiver slung over the pommel of the saddle. Laure and Vilkas walked by with small nods.

"Good morning to you too. We are quite well, thank you," Vilkas muttered to Laure as they both saddled their horses. She grinned over Roast's back at him; she had been thinking the same thing. Before long, Roast was saddled and Laurelin's gear safely tied on. She mounted up and trotted Roast over to where Delphine and Vilkas waited.

She cried out to Vilkas, a broad smile on her face, "You ready to go slay a dragon, lover?"

"Rampaging, daedric mammoths couldn't keep me away. Let's get going!" Prodding his gelding into a gallop, he and Laure raced for the bridge, Delphine frowning, trotting her horse along at a more measured pace.

At the Valtheim Towers, Laure and Vilkas got to witness Delphine in battle for the first time. As usual, bandits were occupying the nearly identical structures that guarded the narrow span arcing over the swift river below. Delphine rode the first thug she encountered down with her horse before dismounting and charging up the stairs of the near tower, sword in hand. Her zeal for killing the thugs nearly equaled her skill. By the time Laure and Vilkas had dismounted, three bodies littered the stairs leading up to the outer landing of the tower. Delphine was engaged with one bandit, while three more crossed the slender bridge, weapons ready. Vilkas moved up the short ramp leading left to the bridge, sword and shield poised if Delphine should need assistance. Laurelin had dropped to the right and was lobbing arrows across the river, distracting the two archers on the rocks.

Delphine cut down her closest opponent and stepped into the doorway behind her, glancing up to see another archer moving to a better vantage. "Hold the bridge, I'll take care of that archer up there." She called to Vilkas, who readily stepped forward, a grim smile on his face, Ysgramor's shield before him, a gift from Laurelin the night before.

Laurelin appeared at his side, and it was then he noticed the annoying bolts of the archers had ceased. She drew her sword and shield, then skipped in front of Vilkas long enough to line up with the nearest bandit, then Shout, "**Fus Ro**," before stepping back to let Vilkas cut down the two stunned bandits, who were now prone on the bridge, trying to maintain their balance on the worn stones. At that moment, a choked cry from above made Laure and Vilkas glance up, just in time to see the archer from above be shoved off the top landing, to hurtle past and land in the shallows at the shore of the river far below. Delphine, up on the landing still, pointed with her sword.

"One more, look sharp!" Sure enough the last man had regained his feet and courage and was recklessly charging the last few feet. Laurelin, still a bit lower standing on the ramp, stuck her sword between his legs and tripped him, while Vilkas smashed his shield into the man's head as he fell, and then stabbed him for good measure.

"I love how dirty you fight, my lovely. That's some pretty quick thinking for an old lady!" exclaimed Vilkas, his eyes shining as he sheathed his sword.

"You need to teach me that shield bash; I love it! I'll get you for the 'old lady' comment later. In private." Arm in arm they went past the now deceased bandits, taking any gold or valuable items they found along the way. Delphine hurried after, listening to the two lovers banter as they descended the tower steps. Before long they were mounted and back on the road, riding past the Throat of the World and on into Eastmarch.

Delphine wanted to push straight on through to Kynesgrove, but as it grew darker and colder, she finally agreed that they could camp for the night and finish the journey in the morning. None of them really wanted to potentially confront a dragon in the dead of night. They camped off the road, near the steaming thermal pools of the Aalto region. Laure and Vilkas rubbed down the horses and tethered them nearby, then went to soak in the mineral-rich water.

Vilkas eased himself into the nearly scalding water with a little hiss of air through his teeth, then relaxed down. Laure waded in appreciatively, then floated on her back, looking up at the stars above. She and Vilkas soaked for an hour, then ran back to camp bare and damp, to dry off in front of the blazing fire Delphine had built before crawling into the small tent they had brought. Laure poked her head back out long enough to say, "When you're ready to rest, call me for my turn at watch." With that she disappeared again.

The Breton warrior turned her gaze from the fire, and she paced her watch, trying to ignore the not-so-muffled sounds of the two Companions making love in the relative privacy of their tent. Hours later, Delphine found her eyes growing heavy with sleep and called out, "Dragonborn, it is midnight. I will rest until dawn if you are ready for your watch."

Laure poked her head out, hair tangled and wildly askew. "Sure, take your rest, I'll be right out."

Delphine rolled herself up in her bedroll and went immediately to sleep, while Laure and Vilkas kept watch. Neither had slept, too excited and nervous about the upcoming battle they faced to sleep.

They spoke little out loud, but their minds were becoming more and more adept at reading moods, certain thought patterns. They would receive impressions of what the other was seeing or smelling, hear ghosts of sound that the other heard. It wasn't like any conversation Laurelin had ever experienced, but Vilkas seemed already accustomed to it, and their minds flowed together seamlessly. She was beginning to understand the silent communication that often seemed to occur between the twins. They kept watch together until dawn lightened the sky and Delphine roused herself. Still saying little, the three saddled the horses and continued up the road.

* * *

A frantic woman rushed down the slope toward the three riders, shouting as she pelted down the trail, "No! You don't want to go up there! A dragon...it's attacking!" She continued down the road and quickly disappeared.

"Well, I guess that's what we're here for, eh, Delphine? Looks like you were correct." She and Vilkas dismounted, tightened armor, and put on helms before lifting satchels containing healing potions and the like.

Not far away, the deep bellow of a dragon sounded, echoed down the hills. Vilkas looked up with eagerness and trepidation in his eyes.

"Nervous, love?" Laure asked as she slipped an enchanted ring on her finger, tossing him an identical one.

Vilkas caught the ring and slipped it on. "I would be a fool if I wasn't, but I am excited as well. This is an amazing opportunity."

Delphine listened to the two as they finished their preparations. She was beginning to understand why the elf traveled with the tall Nord Companion. His love of meeting an exciting new challenge was becoming more and more evident. He would never back down from a fight, and he clearly would never allow harm to befall his lover if he had any say in the matter. Delphine could respect that in a man. Whether his skill would end up being equal to his passion remained to be seen.

Ready at last-although it had only been a few minutes-the three crept carefully up the hillside, following the bone-chilling cries of the dragon upward.

Laure felt dizzy and nauseous all of a sudden. She was looking almost directly up at the terrifying black dragon from Helgen, the one with the burning red eyes. He hovered above the trees, booming out a strange incantation in the dragon tongue. Laure could almost make out what was being said, the dormant dragon souls inside her giving her hints, tastes of what the meanings were.

Delphine, some feet off to the side, had sworn in amazement when they first spotted the huge creature flying overhead. They opted to wait and watch, see what would follow. Now the black dragon was using his Voice, summoning bright energies that dove into the burial mound and lifted out the ancient bones of another dragon. The energy flowed around the bones, quickly knitting them together with fresh sinew and muscle, hard scales and horn blooming across the flanks, until a living, breathing dragon shook itself free of the last dust of it's former grave.

"Ysmir's beard, how is that possible?" breathed Vilkas quietly.

"The black one is the one that destroyed Helgen. I recognize him." Dread coiled hot and sour in her belly as the huge monster spoke in his guttural voice to the newly remade dragon. Most of what was being said made no sense, but she was able to discern certain meanings from the conversation, such as the names they called each other: _Sahloknir_ and _Alduin_.

While the two dragons spoke, Laure and Vilkas edged farther away, taking scant cover behind some boulders nearby, minds racing while they tried to mentally steel themselves for not one, but two dragons. Laure's anxiety had her heart racing. The black dragon had called a storm of flaming chunks of rock the last time she had encountered him. Alduin. And now he was calling the other dragons back from the dead.

Suddenly the fiery gaze of Alduin swiveled her way, transfixing her instantly. His deep voice rasped passed his glinting fangs as he spoke to her, finally acknowledging the puny mortals hiding below.

"_Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi_. You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah." He paused a moment and then with some relish said, "_Sahloknir, krii daar joorre_." With that he wheeled away, wings booming as he left the site of the burial mound.

None of them needed a translation of these words; the intent was clear. The newly raised dragon, Sahloknir beat his wings, gaining the air in seconds, a loud bellow echoing across the hillside. He looped back around, opening his jaws to Shout, the three mortals below already firing arrows that mostly bounced off his scaly hide.

Laure braced herself for the the flames he was sure to breathe at them, not looking forward to the heat and the roar of fire as it crackled over her. Vilkas was similarly braced, a tight grim smile on his face as he watched the beast soar overhead.

It strafed over the three fighters, and a scintillating cloud of ice crystals lashed Laure and Vilkas without mercy. As the stinging, burning cold washed over her, an involuntary cry of pain was choked in her frozen lungs. She couldn't breathe; her muscles were locked in an excruciating grip of ice. In that instant of trying to breathe, Laure realized her mistake; apparently not all dragons breathed flame. This one was different, and she had brought equipment enchanted to protect Vilkas and herself from _fire_.

"Aaah, take off the ring, take it off!" she gasped when she could finally breathe and move again, hastily ripping off her useless jewelry. She could feel shadows of Vilkas' own pain and discomfort, but it seemed to have not affected him as badly. He was already dropping his ring, glancing from her to Sahloknir above, who was looping back for another attack.

Delphine had avoided the wintery blast and was still screaming obscenities at the beast while she arced arrow after arrow up at him. Laurelin and Vilkas separated and resumed firing upward trying to whittle down its reserves of energy and weaken it while giving him fewer grouped targets to blast with ice.

With the three of them spread out as they were, Sahloknir was forced to divide his attentions more than he wished to. Then he was unpleasantly surprised when the mer Shouted fire at him and caught his head in the roiling flames. Blinded, he crashed, skidding across the ground, leaving a deep furrow behind. The calls of delight and excitement from Delphine and Vilkas hazily sounded in his skull as the fire was quenched by the damp soil. _Perhaps the mer was Dragonborn after all_, he was forced to concede to himself.

"Mind the tail and wings!" Laure called out to Delphine as she and Vilkas spread out around the wounded dragon. Delphine nodded, gripping her strange sword and a dagger of elvish make in each hand as she edged closer. The two humans and one mer closed in from three different directions, lashing out when opportunity presented itself.

Laure and Vilkas hunched down behind shields, stalking about Sahloknir's flanks, ready to press in or fall back as needed. With their minds resonating together the way they were, the battle became more of a choreographed dance than a melee. When Delphine had his attention, the tall mer and her mate swarmed in from behind, blades flashing brightly, then they retreated just as swiftly, shields high to protect against further icy breath attacks as the afflicted dragon once more turned his attention their way.

* * *

Sahloknir's wings were tattered strips, and blood streamed hot and burning down his flanks as he roared and Shouted, tail lashing to and fro. His dagger-like wing claws pounded down, trying to pin one of his foes, but every time he turned his attention one way, another of the pests jumped in from behind to gnaw away. He was hurting them; he saw this. Everyone was bloodied and burned with frostbite, but they refused to give in, and the Dragonborn-he hissed this quietly to himself in disbelief-was proving to be an annoyance he couldn't disregard anymore.

Ignoring the agonizing attacks coming from the Nord male and Breton female, Sahloknir turned his whole attention to eliminating _her_. He spun about and tore gouges into the ground as he scrambled towards her, wincing slightly at the burning tears he felt on his flanks and face. To be raised from the dead, and to be confronted with a _Dovahkiin_ so soon after being revived. It made him furious, and his fury was directed at the tiny mer scuttling backward, away from him at this very moment.

His great, scaled and horned head rose up, then descended, fanged maw ready to snap her up and _crunch_ satisfyingly into her frail form, squeeze the life from her and taste her blood. He didn't hear the furious shout from the male, nor the exultant battle cry of the other woman. He found himself looking into the icy blue eyes of the mer and found her returning his gaze coolly, saw as if in slow motion the sharp punch of her abdomen as she exhaled in a Shout, and then he was engulfed with fire again. _Burning! Agony! Mercy!_

Sahloknir felt what seemed like hundreds of sharp blades rending his flesh while his face burned. He roared in pain and anger, his jubilation at finding himself alive again now turning to ash as swiftly as his hopes of surviving his first encounter with this _Dovahkiin_. He realized he hadn't been meant to survive this encounter. Alduin had deceived him, his resurrection had been been little more than a move in his game, to lure out the Dragonborn.

He hurt all over now, was feeling sluggish from loss of blood. He was having trouble focusing, and his hearing seemed to be dimming. He knew he was being overwhelmed by the three _joorre_. As he felt the strength slipping from his body, Sahloknir gave one last lunge toward the Dragonborn, hoping to inflict enough damage on her to take her with him. His bloodied head snapped toward the agile mer, who skipped to the side and deflected his attack with her shield, following it up with a strike of her blade on his cheek.

* * *

Vilkas reacted with lightning speed when he saw the dragon's head dart toward Laurelin, roaring in fury he lashed out, carving away at the beast's neck, smashing with his shield as he danced under the pumping wings, creating new ribbons of blood to color its flanks.

The damn thing was bigger than he had thought and cursedly hard to damage, but they were doing it. He could hear the great heart inside beating madly, could sense the swelling _hollowness_ of its body as it weakened and its spirit retreated.

Its broad, torn wings swept out, knocking Delphine to the ground for an instant, but the hardy Breton woman popped right back up and charged in behind the wing, sword flicking about. Glad he didn't need to be concerned for the other woman, Vilkas waded in once more, his sword cutting deep into Sahloknir's neck and chest. It gave a great shudder, wings, head and tail all flung up convulsively before they slammed back into the ground with a muffled thump that nearly shook him off his feet. In that instant, Vilkas knew they had defeated the great creature. He stood panting, bloody sword still high, gazing at his mate across the stretch of Sahloknir's neck

Her hair was wild, eyes wide, and blood ran out of several wounds on her face and legs; but she was alive! Their eyes met and locked for an instant before she was leaping over the dead dragon's neck, sword forgotten as she leaped into his arms.

"By the Gods, you are sexy, love!" she murmured before covering his face with hot hungry kisses. He growled deeply, her lips setting his blood boiling as he pulled her into a crushing embrace. His mouth found hers and claimed a victorious kiss from her, his teeth nipping her bottom lip. His relief over surviving, and in fact triumphing over such a foe, was fueled by the rising heat of his adoration and devotion to the mer in his arms. Their blades fell to the ground, forgotten for the moment.

For years he had despaired of finding someone he could relate to, to share his life and passions with; and now, after he had sworn off women as a distraction from his duties, the woman of his dreams was quietly saying around soft kisses what he had never hoped to hear, nor feel the _truth_ of.

"I love you, Vilkas of the Companions. Never let me go." His head spun about, and warm golden light seemed to be swirling about Laurelin and himself, confirming her words, his love in return. The light streaked about them, and through the twining of their thoughts, he experienced the raw power of the dragon soul infusing itself into his mate. Through her, he felt the elation, the terror and rage, the acceptance. He could feel her shaking with the intensity of the energy suffusing her body but could only offer the comfort of his arms around her, his lips to soothe away the anguish that came with the power. The gratitude he felt shining from her lifted his heart anew, and he knew it matched his own.

They finally tore themselves away after Delphine repeatedly cleared her throat and tried to get the Dragonborn's attention. Vilkas mentally shook his head free of his delirium and realized they were having an intensely passionate moment in the scoured bones of a dead dragon.

"So you really are... I... it's true, isn't it? You really are Dragonborn." Delphine seemed to be somewhat taken aback. Here she had witnessed undeniable proof that Laurelin was Dragonborn, and from the looks of things, she hadn't truly been expecting it. The Breton sheathed her weapons and straightened up, a small smile on her face. "I owe you some answers, don't I?"

Laurelin nodded, giving a small smile of her own in return. "Oh, aye. I think it's past time to tell me what you want with me." She picked up her sword and handed Vilkas his. She asked question after question of Delphine before her curiosity was sated.

The two Companions prowled through the skeletal remains of the dragon, picking up loose gems and coins while the two women talked. Delphine tried to wave off her third of the findings, but Laurelin insisted. Finally she took the money before saying, "I'm heading back to Riverwood; we can make further plans there. Meet me at the inn and we can talk more. We need further information on what the Thalmor are up to, and with your help, Dragonborn, we can get it."

"I'm overdue at High Hrothgar. When I'm done up there I'll find you at the inn." Laure and Delphine shook hands and then the Breton turned away, passing quickly out of sight as she hiked down the hill. Vilkas stood behind his mate and waited for what came next. His body still tingled slightly, residual energy and excitement from the battle making his limbs and skin prickle.

She turned his way, hand drifting out to slide up his chest. "I think we've earned ourselves a night in a bed, what say you my love?"

"You'll hear no argument from me. You never mentioned the fact that dragon's blood stinks so badly."

"I don't remember it being this pungent. I think it must be our sensitive noses. So how did you like slaying such a mighty beast? Was it as glorious as you hoped?"

Vilkas shrugged as they strode down the hill. "It was glorious, terrifying, and at the same time, deeply sad. I..." He broke off a moment, struggling to find the words. It should have been simple, but he couldn't form his thoughts enough to elucidate properly. "I could feel his soul as it entered yours. I've never experienced anything like that, not even with the blood. It was as if I could hear his thoughts and feel so many emotions, ages of experience and knowledge; I could sense the intelligence in it, and it _humbled_ me in ways I never imagined. How do you contain all of that within you?"

Laurelin was quiet, her eyes on the path. "I don't know. I wish I did. Perhaps the gods gave me some way of absorbing it all. They must have; I think I would have been overwhelmed by now if they didn't."

"So what comes next?" They nodded at the handful of Windhelm guards rushing up the hill, "Will we be traveling to High Hrothgar come morning?"

"Aye, we should be able to make Ivarstead by tomorrow evening. The day after that will see us climbing. Have you ever made the ascent?"

"I have, although the Greybeards themselves were never about. I left some food in that big chest and listened to the wind howl. It was stormy, so I was never able to get a good look out from the heights."

"Perhaps the weather will be more favorable this time. It wasn't very clear when I was up there either. Let's get inside; I'm starving and need to bathe, and so do you, my love. Too bad they are unlikely to have a tub big enough for the both of us."  
They pushed into the tiny inn, both ready to unwind and recount their experience with Sahloknir over a tankard of something warming.

* * *

Iddra, the proprietor, gladly pressed warm mead and hot food into the Companions' hands, then scurried about, heating water and putting clean linen on the bed they rented for the night. She was genuinely thrilled to still be able to do such things still. A few hours ago, she had been fleeing for her life, and now she was back home, everything intact.

It was shaping up to be a busy night; news was always a lodestone for locals hungry for something different to rehash over the fire, and a dragon attack was considered quite newsworthy indeed. And if what Iddra was hearing was correct, this tall Bosmer was the _Dragonborn_! It could draw people all the way down from Windhelm, just so they could see the bones at the top of the hill, and then they would be thirsty, perhaps even want to linger a bit, hear the tales after dinner...Iddra wiped the counter clean again and bustled over to the Dragonborn. Her mug looked empty. It would never do to let anyone say hospitality in Kynesgrove was less than in the Palace of the Kings itself.

Laurelin and Vilkas raised their freshened mugs to Iddra and smiled. "Long life and prosperity to you for your excellent service. You have our thanks." The pale-haired mer had a sweet, low voice, and from the warmth of her tone, the innkeeper knew the elf meant every word. _Oh the tales she would be able to tell! Keep that mug filled Iddra, perhaps she will come back later!_

_Once more, thank you wonderful readers for taking some of your precious time to adventure with Laurelin and the rest of her amazing Companions. If you ever have questions or comments, I would love to know. As the storyteller, there are always so many things I wish I could include, but end up getting omitted because of the length these chapters end up being already. Although these are "published" chapters, in my mind they are just a rough draft still, so suggestions and positive critiques are welcome. Also, feel free to leave me love, it makes all the tears and daydreaming worth it to know you all appreciate the work! Cheers! ~PyreIris~_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven - Meditations and Merriment**

_Mild smut warning-You've been warned_.

The next afternoon found Laurelin and Vilkas cautiously picking their way up the switchbacks leading up the hill. Ivarstead was near, and the Throat of the World loomed high over head, heavy banks of cloud obscuring its flanks. They rode into town and dismounted in front of the Vilemyr Inn. A smiling Bosmer held the door open for Laurelin, his rust-colored eyes taking in every detail of her face and figure.

"A fine day it is, sister elf. I hope you are enjoying it as much as I." He pressed his free hand to his heart and inclined his head, long nut-colored horsetail falling over his broad shoulders.

Laure repeated his gesture and replied, "A fine day indeed, and if the mead is as good as I remember, it looks to be an even finer evening. How are you, Gwilin?" She stepped past him and moved to the side, while Vilkas followed, eying the brawny elf warily.

" A glorious day it has been, yet it pales next to you, Laurelin Vo'Shai."

The tall Nord could smell the male Bosmeri's attraction to his mate and knew that she was aware of this interest as well. When she leaned over and brushed both his cheeks with light kisses, Vilkas made himself turn away and marched to the counter, ordering mead for the three of them. Obviously she knew him from before, and Vilkas knew she liked to chat with other mer when she got the chance. They were, after all, quite far from their homeland.

His mind and heart knew he had no reason to be jealous, but his wolf spirit always had other ideas and growled furiously at the upstart sniffing around his mate. He paid for the mead and a room for the night, then scooped up the three mugs, returning to the fire where his mate warmed her hands and stretched her long, shapely legs. She was smiling and still happily chatting with Gwilin when Vilkas strode up, offering a drink to his mate first, then the next to her friend, who accepted with a wide smile.

"Vilkas love, this is Gwilin; he works here in the village. I met him on my way up the mountain the first time. Gwilin, this sexy beast is my darling mate, Vilkas of the Companions."

"How wonderful! Congratulations. New love is one of life's sweetest treasures." He raised his mug to Vilkas and Laurelin, continuing after a brief pause, "I wish you much joy together!" Vilkas couldn't help but wonder; the man wasn't at all phased by the news and, astonishingly enough, seemed genuinely pleased for the new couple. He'd been sure the mer would pose a threat, but it appeared he was pleasantly wrong.

They ended up sitting near the fire through supper, drinking mead with the charming, almost obnoxiously cheerful Gwilin, and on into the night. Laurelin sat comfortably on Vilkas' lap, his strong arms close about her waist, nose buried into her fragrant hair. Gwilin's bright attitude toward life seemed to work wonders on his mate. She laughed and joked, leaned back to press herself against his chest and nuzzle his neck with lips and nose. Her eyes danced with merriment when she turned to Vilkas much later and asked him seriously, "How can you tell how old a Bosmer is?"

Gwilin snorted and nearly choked on his mead-he had already heard this one. Vilkas shrugged and asked in a resigned tone, "How?"

She smirked and replied, "Chop it in half and count the rings!" Snickering into her mug she ignored the flabbergasted look on her mate's face as he wrestled with amusement and horror. She met Gwilin's eyes over the rim of her mug and couldn't keep it in any longer. Both Bosmer burst out laughing, tipsiness making them rather giddy.

Vilkas had to chuckle as well. He hugged her tight and kissed her long, pointed ear, feeling more than hearing her low groan of hunger. After another round and more jokes and tales, Vilkas stood, sweeping Laurelin into his arms. He bowed to Gwilin saying, "It has been a pleasure to meet you, friend, but now it is time to retire. Thank you for a very pleasant evening."

"The pleasure is mine, Vilkas of the Companions. Take good care of her."

"You have my word. Good night to you."

"Night Gwilin, it was lovely to visit with you again!" called out Laurelin over Vilkas' shoulder as he bore her to their little room.

* * *

Morning found Laure and Vilkas climbing, bundled in furs and mittens, heavy packs high on their shoulders. They had paid Gwilin handsomely to take their horses back to Whiterun, along with what gear they couldn't pack up the mountain themselves. They stopped frequently to read the verses on the shrines that dotted the trail up, but other than that, they made excellent time. Both were in superior physical condition and eager to get to the monastery at the end of the path.

Vilkas was hoping to gain admittance to the halls of the Greybeards for the first time, and Laurelin was eager to return the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller and perhaps get a few more questions answered. The seven thousand steps wended their way back and forth across the face of the mountain, sometimes disappearing entirely under drifts of snow, other times scraped clean by the fierce winds that lashed The Throat of the World. Ice wraiths and trolls posed no problem on the way up, so they found themselves climbing the slick stone steps up to the tall embossed doors before the sun set. Stamping the ice from their boots, the two Companions quietly pushed into the austere domain of the Greybeards.

Master Arngeir met them in the foyer, his voice speaking softly but still carrying the rumbling echoes of his powerful Thu'um. "Greetings to you Dragonborn, you return at last. Have you brought the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller to us this day?"

"Aye, I have. My apologies for taking so long. There were, ah, complications. Matters in the world below flow ever on and don't wait for such as myself. Much as I might wish they would." Laurelin unwrapped the horn and passed it over to Arngeir, who stroked its curved surface with two fingers before tucking it away in his robes somewhere.

"Excellent. Now who is your tall, fierce-looking friend?"

"This is Vilkas of the Companions, he is my mate and protector. I trust he will be treated as I would and welcomed here." She smiled politely, but her eyes bored into Master Arngeir's, letting him know she wasn't willing to argue on the matter.

The old man hesitated for the briefest moment, this man was clearly a man of war, yet Arngeir could see the hopeful cast of his features, the awe as he glanced about the dimly lit halls. With an inward shrug he relented. "Of course, as long as he respects our customs and traditions, your mate will be welcome here. Now, if you will follow me, there are a few matters we should attend to." He gestured them to follow him into the central hall, where the other three monks were gathered. "Master Wulfgar will now teach you the last word of the Unrelenting Force shout. Vilkas, if you could stand over here please?" Vilkas moved to the spot indicated by Arngeir and watched with trepidation.

Laurelin positioned herself and without hesitation, Wulfgar waved his hands and whispered something, a whisper that thundered about the narrow hall. Bright runes appeared on the floor, looking as if they had been chiseled from pure energy. She paced around the runes, eyes drinking in the lines, her mind instinctively channeling the knowledge of the dragon souls she had absorbed to decipher the meaning. The light flowed into her, dimming her vision for a moment before she understood completely the context and usage of her new insights. She knew it frightened the Greybeards, the ease with which she learned these things. Concepts they had studied for decades, endless hours of contemplation and study. The blanking of the mind to meditate on a single word. And here she was, able to comprehend in a few heartbeats what they had worked so hard for.

Yet she could not find it in her to apologize. She was _using_ her abilities as she was intended to, out in the world, facing dangers uncounted. These men chose to sequester themselves away from the world, keeping their great power to themselves. No matter-in her mind-that they said it was to venerate the Gods only that they learned the Way of the Voice. They had great power and refused to use it, not even for the so-called greater good. They had given up their ability to choose what to do with their Thu'um and allowed the gods to dictate the path they trod.

Laurelin deeply respected the gods, yet she knew choice was one of the greatest gifts and burdens in life. She couldn't fully respect nor trust people who gave their freedoms away. She believed the gods put each person on a path and said, "Follow that path." But what she also believed was that the path curved and forked many times, each fork a decision made. Some may be good, some painful, yet all had a lesson. To sit at the feet of the gods and say, "I won't follow that path, for fear of making a mistake or pain," was the grossest stupidity Laurelin could think of, and an outright rejection of the experience life offered. Joy and pain were the warp and weft in the tapestry of life.

"**Dah**." she murmured quietly, though it still rattled her teeth. She looked up and past the shoulders of the monks and met Vilkas' eye. Some joys so completely overwhelmed the pain that it became just a brief diversion from happiness.

When the four monks gathered around her for a formal recognition of her being the true Dragonborn, Arngeir suggested, "Vilkas, you may wish to wait outside during the ordeal to come."

Vilkas bristled at the thought. "What she endures I will also," he replied stiffly.

"As you wish. Let it be known you might be...damaged. I would not see you come to harm needlessly. Only the Dragonborn has the strength to withstand our combined Voices. Those not trained or born with the soul of the Dovah could be slain, for such close proximity to the power unleashed can kill. Do you still choose to stay?" Vilkas nodded but stepped closer to the doors, his silver eyes never leaving Laurelin.

He watched as they raised hands and voices, and in a few heartbeats his palms were clapped tightly over his ears, as the Greybeards chanted in mind shattering unison, _"Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau. Naal Thu'umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth. Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok."_ He didn't know what any of it meant, but he was glad it was a short ceremony, and soon over with as he picked himself off the floor. Three of the monks turned back to their meditations immediately, but Arngeir lingered, sensing that the mer woman would of course have questions that needed answering.

Laurelin looked a trifle dazed, but whole and unharmed as she asked the first thing she could think. "What were you saying? I'm pretty sure I didn't understand any of it."

" It meant, 'Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath we bestow it to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it.'"

"Ysmir? Me? How can that be?" Her lips curved into a disbelieving smile.

"The title is yours, Dragonborn. How else may I aid you this evening?" His smile was kindly, and she knew he was sincere, but she could tell he wished to return to his devotions as quickly as possible. Still, he would have years more to devote to the gods. She had been trotted all over Skyrim in search of the blasted horn, and she intended to get as many answers as she could out of the monks before she made the long journey back down to the lowlands.

"Vilkas and I brought fresh supplies up for you. Perhaps we might sit and refresh ourselves while we speak; there are many questions I have."

"Of course," came his careful response. "It will be a pleasure to take a meal with you, Dragonborn. Please, follow me." Laure and Vilkas picked up their packs and followed the monk into modest living quarters, where Arngeir began preparing a simple meal. Laure and Vilkas helped him prepare food for themselves and the other three monks, while Arngeir answered Laurelin's prodigious list of questions to the best of his ability. Vilkas asked nearly as many questions as his mate did over the course of dinner and after as well.

When they turned in for the night, Vilkas was still not ready to sleep. Everything he had heard tonight seemed to swarm about in his head like bees, a huge swarm of edgy bees. The enormity of the situation seemed to be growing and piling higher. Laurelin rested her head on his chest, her arm across his waist, one leg thrown over his as they laid back on the small bed.

Much of what had been confirmed and revealed to them this night had a familiar feel. He had read enough histories to know that the reappearance of Alduin, the World-Eater, was a cataclysmic event. Along with many of the other dragons, and their Dragon Priests, Alduin had ruled with terror and blood. Defeated ages ago, many had thought he was destroyed. Yet now, over a millennium later the monster was back. Returned to Tamriel and raising other dragons from the dead.

The ongoing debate amongst some academic circles seemed just that: academics. Whether Alduin really was the divine Akatosh, or an extension of the will of the divine didn't matter. What he saw was the other hand, that offered redemption. He kissed the top of her head softly.

They snuggled close together, tired and excited, still anxious for answers that Arngeir was unable to give. Both were drifting near sleep when Vilkas found himself saying into her hair, "On my life, I love you, Laurelin Vo'Shai. Ysmir or not, I will do whatever I must to help you in your tasks. If you would accept my sword and service."

"Accepted with gratitude. Now, get some sleep love, we can talk more in the morning." They drifted off to sleep some time later, fingers laced together over Vilkas steady heart.

* * *

In spite of her intentions to stay only a day or two, she and Vilkas stayed in High Hrothgar over a fortnight. They continued to ask as many questions as they could of the four old men who lived in seclusion so high above the world.

Laurelin was more than a little put off by the attitude the monks had when they learned Alduin had returned. It boiled down to them shrugging and saying it was all according to the will of the gods.

Laure couldn't help but remind Arngeir that Akatosh must not be entirely keen on the end of the world, as he had awakened her powers to fight back. He had grudgingly agreed, but she thought it was mostly because the peaceful old man didn't want to introduce strife into his domain.

When they weren't pestering the monks, she and Vilkas strolled about the heights, seeking the rare vistas that opened up during the infrequent lulls in the storms nearly always raging around the high walls. Together they meditated, sitting with legs folded in front of them, knee to knee for hours. He was essentially eavesdropping on her meditations, but he found it gave him a better understanding of her burdens and powers. With the ancient dragon souls adding to her meditations, the things ruminated upon were often far beyond his ken.

For her part, Laurelin hoped he would be able to withstand the powers of the Voice when it was being wielded in close proximity to him. She really didn't want to accidentally hurt him with her Thu'um.

While they were high up in the monastery, their daily regimen of exercise and sword play was out of the question. The monks would not appreciate such a noisy disturbance to their daily activities, and the air was so thin up here that vigorous exercise was challenging anyhow. Laurelin took to doing complex stretches and light strengthening forms that flowed together like a slow dance. Vilkas watched from a nearby chair as Laure pushed up into a backward arch from the floor, then lowered her forearms to the ground, making a triangle of them. She swung one leg up, so her toe pointed to the ceiling, before bringing her other leg up to join it. Vilkas couldn't help but appreciate the control and balance she had, not to mention the flexibility. He had enjoyed that part already many a time.

She glanced over at him from her inverted position, hair brushing the floor and smiled, "You could join me; loosening up all your stiff muscles would do you some good."

"I could never twist myself up the way you do, love."

"Oh, don't say 'can't' to me."

"I didn't, I said 'could never' if you recall-"

"It means the same thing. Come here, I need some one to anchor me for this next one." She beckoned him over, and he found he couldn't refuse her. He found himself flat on his back, pressing her hands up with his own while she began teaching him what she needed. At first he was cautious and unsure and caused her to unbalance and then fall over him in a giggling tangle. But soon he understood what she was doing and focused on remaining steady for her.

And so it began. Before very many days had passed, they would get up in the morning and warm up, work out lightly, then meditate the better part of the day away. Later, after a meal, they worked out some more, Laurelin often poised on Vilkas' strong hands or shoulders, while she went through intricate postures that required utmost concentration, balance and trust.

So wrapped up in each other were they that they barely even registered when the Greybeards would sometimes stop in the doorways to watch the exercises. Their mouths did not speak, but with minds woven together the way they were, words were not needed. They shifted and flowed together with little conscious thought, muscles pushing and pulling in unison.

Ultimately, it was the waxing moons which brought their thoughts back to the more pressing matters of the world below. The growing restlessness of the beast blood reminded them that though they could stay up here longer if left to their own whims, time wasn't waiting for them. They were both needed. Relaxed and centered, the two Companions bade farewell to the four monks, leaving extra supplies in the kitchens, while the location of another word of power was marked on Laurelin's map. Bundled up once more, they began the long, slippery descent, intending to cut off much of the trek by not following the seven thousand steps all the way back to Ivarstead.

Happy to be on their way again in spite of the tranquility of the monastery, Laurelin packed some snow into a ball and tossed it at Vilkas, watching it slide into his scarf and down his neck. Knowing she was in for it, she lit off down the hill while he was still spluttering about the dampness. Seeing her fleeing however had his wolf growling, _Catch her!_ and he was off, leaping down the stairs and swarming through drifts of white, determined to give her a good rolling in the snow. _One way or another_.

* * *

Vilkas caught up to her a quarter mile down the trail; however, she had scrambled up to a narrow ledge and was pelting him with snowballs, her laughter breaking the quiet morning tranquility. He returned her barrage of snow from down below, until she finally jumped down herself, out of snow and chilled. Racing past him as he was bent over to scoop up more ammunition, she gave him a little push, causing her poor mate to over balance and topple on his side into the snow. Cursing now, he bounded up and took off down the hill again. He finally cornered her under a small tree, it's needles heavy with accumulated snow.

Laurelin was crouched under it, the bole between herself and Vilkas, while they eyed each other, breath steaming out in pale clouds. Vilkas crooked a smile her way and with one finger pointed up. Laure glanced up, and as she did, Vilkas shook the tree gently, loosening a large clump of snow. It fell directly on Laure's face and head. She fell back, laughing and cursing good naturedly, brushing it from her eyes and hair.

"Sneaky bastard, what was that for?" she laughed, knowing full well she had asked for it.

"No need to cast aspersions on my legitimacy, now. Here, let me help you up." His hand extended, he leaned over to help her to her feet. On her feet once again, Laure began shaking the snow from her clothing. He thoughtfully helped brush her clean, then once the worst of the ice had been wiped off, put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her pink cheek. Laure let her eyes drift shut in contentment, and that was all the time Vilkas needed.

His powerful arms scooped her up in an instant and propelled her unceremoniously into the nearest drift of snow. He laughed as he pounced on her while she struggled to regain her feet and pinned her, lips brushing past her ear, teeth grazing the soft skin at her throat. She struggled under him, alternating between trying to capture his lips and rub his face in the churned snow.

For the entire fortnight they were up at High Hrothgar, they had refrained from making love. It was just something they had done out of respect for the monks and the teachings they were there for. Now with wolf spirits playfully near to the surface, two weeks of randiness was swiftly catching up to them.

His chilled fingers were already working at her armor as he picked her up again, this time to press her up against a boulder, out of the snow. She was playfully slapping his hands away, at the same time her long fingers tugged at the buckles of his own armor.

"This really isn't the best place, love," she moaned as his fingers slid down her thigh, hitching it up over his hip.

"You would prefer it back in the snow bank then?" He moved to spin them back to the drift before she cried out in alarm.

"No! Damn, now I wish we hadn't left the tent with all the other stuff!" His big hands were pulling the laces of her pants, tugging the waist open and down. His lips warmed her throat, teeth nipping hungrily while his fingers roamed the soft skin under her clothing. She pressed herself closer to him, rubbing eagerly along his front, her own fingers slipping into his trousers to stroke his hard length.

With a groan of frustration, Vilkas lowered Laurelin's feet to the ground and spun her, so she faced the rock they leaned on, and pulled her hips back to his own. "I wish we had the means to do this properly, but lacking those niceties, I think I'll just bend you over. Any problems with that, love?" he breathed into her ear, leaning over her backside as he yanked her pants down.

"Why are you still talking? Fuck me, before I freeze my arse off" gasped Laure, bracing herself and tilting her hips up, white bottom presented appealingly to Vilkas. He always enjoyed taking his time with her, bringing her to a sweating, heaving frenzy, but it was bitterly cold up here. Furs and sensuality could wait for later. Now, he just needed to bury himself inside her.

Freeing himself from his pants, he pressed up against her, hands tight on her hips. He could feel the warmth of her thighs along his bare skin, the slickness of her folds gliding along his shaft. With a small grunt, he pushed himself inside, burying himself completely. Her snug walls folded and clamped eagerly about him. His fingers bit deeply into her flesh as he slid back out. Her head had flown back and the low sob of pleasure that came from her throat goaded him on.

The world was torn away, and all he could see was her bare backside and glimpses of his manhood as it slid in and out of her. Her body rocked against his, forearms bracing her against the stone. His blood pounded in his ears, making her small cries of pleasure seem to echo from a great distance. Growling, he leaned forward, rampant wolf spirit urging him into a frantic pace. His teeth bit hard into the nape of her neck, stifling his loud moans.

Bucking against him and rolling her hips, Laure felt him piercing her, pushing in as deep as he could. She could see her snow-covered boots barely touching the ground, each thrust pushing her up into his chest. When his fingers curled around to her front and lightly pressed the tiny nub he sought, she cried out and shuddered into climax without warning. She writhed against him as the sudden intense pleasure robbed her of coherence, only able to moan his name and plead.

He growled again in satisfaction behind her, and plunged into her a handful more times before grinding his pelvis against her backside one final time, feeling his seed spill out, deep into her. Her tightly clamped walls hugged him closely, her head hung limply between her elbows, knees trembling and knocked together. Waves of pleasure rolled over both of them for several moments, before the chill caused Laure to shiver, and remind them both that they were out in the wide open with their pants down. It had been short, too short, but a welcome release for the both of them that should tide them over until they reached Whiterun.

Pulling apart and loosing the warmth of their close bodies almost hurt, but they cleaned up as best they could, hitching clothes back into place with shaky fingers. Laure gave Vilkas a smug grin and rubbed his cheek with her long nose.

"To be continued?" she queried.

"Of course. Let's get going, hot food and dry clothes sound wonderful right now." Together they started down the steep slope once more, jogging quickly whenever possible.

* * *

Farkas found them a few miles out of town, sweating, filthy and more sated than they had been higher up. His knowing grin split his handsome face as he jogged up to where his twin and Laure lay sprawled in the flowers. "Couldn't wait till you got back home huh? I know how that is. Or rather, I would like to know how that is. Still need to find that girl though. Hey Laure do you have a sister?"

Laure grinned up at her towering shield-brother. "Aye, but Kirra'lei prefers women. The few male lovers she has taken were mostly for sport. My son would be all over you though."

"Your son likes men? I thought he has children."

"He does, on both counts. He likes women too."

"Family dinners must be interesting, " mused Farkas, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he contemplated a family where the relationships seemed intricate beyond his understanding.

"You might be surprised how normal it all would seem. We tell stories and joke, talk about our day, all the mundane things. So, a young Bosmer lad is at the dinner table, and complains to his Da, 'Da, I don't like my little sister!' The boy's Da looks at him with a frown and says, 'I'll hear no arguments, just eat what's on your plate!' Laure grinned up at Farkas, shielding her eyes with her forearm.

Farkas took a moment to think it through then realized, "Oh, Bosmer are cannibals, his sister was on his plate! Laure that's just awful!" He was chuckling nonetheless.

"Just a joke sexy-man, I would never feed my children to each other. So why don't Bosmer eat jesters?"

"Because they taste funny?" ventured Farkas. Laure clapped and pointed his way.

"You got it! I suppose we should get dressed again love, we're almost home." She nudged Vilkas, who was drowsing in the warm afternoon, his tunic thrown over his otherwise naked body. Farkas leaned over and scooped up a few discarded items of clothing, handing them over to Laure with his smirk back in place.

"Okay, last one, Farkas. What two words do Bosmer never say to each other?"

Farkas thought about it a moment and shrugged, "I dunno, what?"

Vilkas chimed in from his spot on the ground where he was struggling into his breeches, "Eat me. You told that one in Ivarstead. I think your memory is slipping."

"What were you saying, beloved? My poor old ears couldn't hear a word you said. Something about a mummy in shipping?" Laure was sliding back into her own clothes while she and the twins bantered back and forth. It was a joy to see Farkas again, smell his comforting, sexy scent, hear his rough voice. They finished dressing and set out once more, crossing the rumpled foothills and the tundra before the sun had fully set. The guards pushed the front gates open as the first torches were being lit. Adrienne was just shutting down for supper, and Lydia was waiting at the front door.

"I heard you might be back tonight. There's hot water in the tub, and supper is almost ready." Lydia cast her eyes up and down, taking in her Thane and Vilkas' rumpled, filthy state and sighed. "Looks like we'll need more water. Come inside the lot of you; there should be just enough time to clean up before it's time to eat."

Laurelin grinned to herself. It was good to be home again.

* * *

Vilkas was called away to the Reach a few days later. Several weeks of paperwork had piled up in their absence, but Laure didn't mind. Most of it was taken care of before midday, shortly after Vilkas departed. She meandered about town for a while, listening to recent gossip and rumors, before stepping into Breezehome.

Farkas came by while she was unpacking the items purchased earlier. He sat himself down, listened to her humming to herself while she worked. He glanced around Breezehome, finally taking note of her lack of personal belongings in the small house. "You've been living here how long now?"

Laure shrugged, "Months. Why do you ask, brother?"

"Well, shouldn't you have more stuff? You're always coming back to town with loads of things you find, but there is nothing like that here in the house."

"Farkas, I sell most of it and everything of value or interest that I keep is put away in the chests. I don't _have_ much else here. Almost everything I own is at Honeyside, in Riften."

"Oh, I just thought by now you would have made it all girly or something." The big man scratched his ever present stubble with his finger nails, as his silver eyes roamed the tiny house.

"Or something?" she asked, grinning over to her shield brother.

"Well, yeah. You know, women like flowers, and lacy things over the windows. Stuff like that."

Laure laughed merrily, eyes sparkling in amusement. "Dear one, I'm hardly ever here, and when I am, why would I spend hours moving this plate here, arranging these flowers in this jug, making sure that statue is facing just so?" She hugged him tightly. "In Valenwood, we don't decorate at all. Our homes are high up in great, walking trees. Imagine the shattered crockery, the broken trophies!"

"They _walk?_" he asked incredulously. "How?"

"Like this!" Laure pantomimed a few long, slow strides, her arms waving slowly overhead in mimicry of branches swaying side to side.

Farkas roared with laughter, his silver eyes lit happily. "Gods save me, my best friend is an insane, cannibal elf!"

Laure dropped her arms and kissed his nose, "Don't forget the Thu'um, dearest."

"Yeah, there's that too!" he agreed readily.

"Let's go round up Torvar and take a short trip up to Riverwood. I need to check in with Delphine, and this is a good chance to see what improvements he might be making."

"Sure, sounds great. So she's the last of the Blades? I thought they had been wiped out years ago."

"It sounded to me like she's been in hiding nearly half her life, for fear of that very thing. She seems to believe the Thalmor are behind the reappearance of the dragons, but I think that's pretty out there myself. I just want to see if she has any new information since I've seen her last. Go fetch Torvar and let's get moving."

* * *

"So you want me to crash a dinner party at the Thalmor Embassy. This should be wildly successful. When is this event supposed to take place?" queried Laure. Delphine jerked her gaze from Farkas and Torvar, who were sitting by the fire, back to the elf.

"The next one should be within the next few months. That gives me some time to arrange for an invitation and cover story."

"I trust I can come up with my own cover story; you just get me an invitation."

"Fine, I'll send word to Jorrvaskr as soon as I get the date and invitation. We'll make further plans then. With luck, we'll find out what the Thalmor are up to. Until then, you might try to keep a low profile. Be safe, Dragonborn."

Laure didn't fail to notice that the Blade warrior still called her by her honorific. To the Bosmer, it seemed as though Delphine only saw her title, her abilities. Not the person. It wasn't something she was going to let herself be bothered by; she had just begun noting how people often used her title before her name. Shrugging inwardly, she sat down next to Torvar and Farkas, letting them finish the savory stew they were enjoying.

"All taken care of, Laure?" Farkas asked around a mouthful of food. Not that he needed to ask; he could hear perfectly well. Whatever he needed to do in order to maintain appearances in public.

"Aye, we can head back home as soon as you're both ready. How's the stew?"

"Delicious, sure you don't want some, Harbinger?" Torvar was sopping up the gravy from the bottom of his bowl with a crust of bread.

"No thanks, there are far too many carrots in there, I can see from here. You guys knock yourselves out." She grinned at her shield-brothers, feeling content. A few answers had been found and she was back home, able to devote some time and energy to her duties with the Companions, knowing that further answers were pending.

Her only complaint currently was the absence of her mate. They had spent two amazing weeks near the top of the world, communing deeply, building a physical connection that had nothing to do with carnal pleasures and everything to do with the silent affinity they both felt. In a remarkably short time he had become an integral part of her life, and when they were apart, she felt every mile between them. Knowing he would be back soon made the separation just tolerable.

Farkas and Torvar finished eating, and in a few moments the three Companions were walking back toward Whiterun, alert for danger but still laughing together, Torvar and Laurelin seeing if they could throw Farkas into the river but ending up soaked themselves while Farkas stood on the banks, dry and warm, chuckling. Laure had to concede that nothing less than all three words of her Unrelenting Force shout would budge the big man if he didn't want to move. Torvar agreed.

"It was fun to try, though. Maybe if we'd got him by surprise, or from behind." Torvar still battled daily with his desire to drink all day, but he was making small improvements, imbibing less, doing more work, eating regular meals. Weapons practice twice a day with Farkas was improving his muscle tone, and his eyes were slowly clearing of the haze that had fogged them for so long. He was nearly a month into his recovery, and Laurelin, along with the twins-and in fact all of the Companions-were proud of his commitment to drink less and be a more productive part of the group. They all knew it was the hardest thing to ask of him, but he was taking every day as it came, with the support of his shield-siblings. As it turned out, Torvar sober was a surprisingly clever, sensitive man.

Dripping and giggling, Laure and Torvar waded back out of the river where they had been flung, ready to dry off in the sun. Bandits and dragons and Thalmor spies be damned, it was a fine day to be alive.

* * *

_Hello again lovely readers! If you like what you are reading I would love to know! If you haven't already, please follow/fave. Cheers, ~Pyreiris~_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight- I Could Have Worded That Better**

During the last two weeks, Laurelin and Farkas had gone out on several small local jobs, often taking Torvar with them, in an attempt to keep busy. When they were at home, Laure introduced the big man to the routine of exercises she and Vilkas had adopted up on the heights of High Hrothgar.

Farkas took to it with ease, enjoying the closeness and camaraderie that came with the practice. When they needed more strenuous exercise, they strapped on armor and practiced with blades. He was still training her, bringing her skills to a honed sharpness. Although she was a dynamic fighter, she was the first to admit she needed to improve in many areas.

Bickering amiably back and forth one day, Farkas reminded her, "You should practice with your greatsword more this week. Last time we sparred I had your back in seconds. "

"I will, but that ugly thing just isn't my style, brother."

"Make it your style then, and don't tell me it's too big. You're bigger now, stronger too. Shouldn't be a problem. Vilkas has been going light on you, and it won't do you any favors in the end."

"I always feel off balance with it, no matter how much I train. As soon as I swing the damned thing, I'm ready to fall over!"

"Balance is important, but you know that. Maybe we just need to get you a lighter two-handed weapon. Glass is pretty light."

"Perhaps, but it all feels the same when I'm wobbling around. I'll shop around for something suitable, I guess." Thinking about glass greatswords made her think about Vilkas. Laurelin bit back the worry that was threatening to overtake her. He was still in The Reach with Ria, and the reports coming back from that region were not comforting. The Forsworn were particularly active this year, raiding settlements that had been ignored for years, swarming through the stony hills in huge numbers, abducting people for inscrutable reasons. They were only supposed to have been gone a week, and now as the second week drew to a close, panic was seeping into the Dragonborn's mind.

Her mate was a very capable fighter, smart and intuitive. But her mate was not perfect, and she hoped he hadn't been caught up in something he wasn't prepared to handle. The urge to go hunting for her lover was strong, but she still had faith he would return.

Sighing, she blew out a long breath. "So I thought I would practice with the scimitars I took out of that cave the other day, I've never fought with curved swords before, I wonder how different it is."

Farkas snorted. "It's just not natural. Who fights with curved swords? Crazy people do, that's who."

"Do I not meet some requirement of crazy?"

"No, I'm sure you'll be great with them. I think you're just that kind of insane." His steely gaze left hers and flitted over her shoulder. She turned to see what had caught his attention. A young courier was hesitantly edging up to the two Companions, satchel in hand, wearing nothing but a hat, loincloth, and boots.

"I have a letter for the Harbinger, your eyes only."

Laurelin held out her hand and tried not smile too much. The poor lad must be freezing.

"Why are you naked?" Farkas was blunt as always but not unconcerned. He just didn't usually think to reword or filter himself. Tact was not always foremost on his mind.

The courier clutched his letter bag tighter, as his gaze flew back and forth between the mer and giant of a man. "I was attacked out on the road, the vile menaces took my clothes. All I managed to escape with was this satchel."

"Well, you were fortunate to escape with your life as well," responded Laure as she turned the missive over in her hands. "You wouldn't be the first person mugged for your boots. You're not even the first naked courier I've seen. Sit down and have a bite to eat, I'll see about finding you some clothing."

"I should really be going-more messages to deliver you see."

"Sit, I won't take no for an answer. I don't bite, but he does..." Farkas snickered and passed a mug of mead the courier's way. Looking undecided, the man finally sat and sipped the proffered drink.

Laure broke the seal on her letter and read, a thoughtful expression settling quickly over her face, though Farkas could feel her relief. "He's alive; he just got caught up in some other related business, so he should be home within the next few days. That is a relief. So shall we see about finding some clothes for this poor fellow?"

Farkas mumbled a general agreement, hoisting his bulk from the bench. "Yeah, there should be some clothes downstairs. I'll go check. Glad we don't have to hunt my brother down after all. You should get to practicing, Laure."

"I'll get to it. You just find something warm for our friend here." She turned her eery, pale gaze the courier's way, and he shifted his satchel over his lap a little, trying for modesty, not knowing she couldn't care less whether he was clothed or not while he sat there. "Where are you going next in such a hurry that you don't have time to wait for proper clothes? By the way, you never answered; have you eaten?" She piled a plate full of fruit, cheese, bread and a heaping portion of Tilma's delicious venison stew, ignoring his half-hearted protests.

The man finally set to gratefully, face a mask of pleasure as he sampled the fare. Clearing his throat after a few bites, he replied, "I have one letter bound for Windhelm and another for Ivarstead. After that I will have return messages I imagine, so it'll be back to Markarth, most probably."

"I see. How long ago were you hired to deliver my letter?"

"The day before yesterday. I left immediately; he paid me extra to get it to you by today, you see." He seemed vaguely proud to have made it in spite of his misfortune on the road. "Thank you for your kindness. I don't have coin any more to purchase new clothing; my purse was in my pants."

"So you were robbed of your coin as well? Wait here; I'll be right back." She strode into Jorrvaskr and returned moments later with Farkas following. The big Nord man set a pile of folded clothing near the courier and dropped back down on the bench. Laure for her part set a small pouch of gold in front of the courier, and then another, and another. The couriers jaw dropped as he eyed the three purses.

"Each purse has a few hundred gold; that should compensate you for what was lost and hopefully a bit more. Thank you for bringing this letter to me. It came from someone I dearly needed to know was alive, and you brought it to me in spite of your trouble."

"Just doing my duty, Harbinger. You have my own thanks once more." He pulled the top pair of trousers toward him before Laure stepped away to let him dress.

"Not at all. When you are dressed, I would like very much if you could show us the the general location of where you were attacked."

"It was not far from the Broken Fang. A mile or so west of it. There were two of them, an Orsimer and a Nord. I can only imagine they must have been desperate to take my clothes. I guess the letters weren't important enough." He talked as he tried clothes on, quickly finding things that would suit until he made it to a shop.

"I must say I'm glad they _didn't_ have interest in them." She exchanged meaningful glances with Farkas. When the smiling courier was ready to leave, she bade him farewell and then lifted her brow in silent question to her hulking shield-brother.

"Oh yeah, I agree. Let me get my gear. We should probably check and make sure the vampires haven't moved back into the Broken Fang while we're out that far." He ducked inside and came back out moments later, pack thrown over his shoulder, a sweet-roll wedged into his mouth. "Leshgo," he slurred around the pastry. Laure turned from where she was examining the heft of the twin scimitars she intended to master.

"About time, I'd say," she sniped playfully, sheathing her new blades with a flourish and a smile.

* * *

"So, Laure, you haven't talked to Vilkas about, uh, stuff yet have you?" ventured Farkas once they were out on the tundra. They trotted side by side over the rolling, damp grass

Laure knew what he meant by "stuff" but would rather have danced around the topic. "No, I haven't. I suppose I should, though. Oh, don't give me that look." She knew he was giving her the little frown, complete with forehead crinkle. That, combined with the sad look in his brilliant eyes, and Laure couldn't help but relent. She was such a sap sometimes. "You're right, I'll tell him! Just stop lecturing me like that!" She grinned and skipped ahead a pace, then turned to stare him in face, solemnly asking, "What do you think he will say?"

"I dunno. He loves you, Laurelin. But he has no respect for thieves. Says there is no honor in taking what isn't ours."

"While that may be true, we loot people we kill almost every day, Farkas. Some would say we steal their lives, which is worse. How do you-do we-rationalize that? Where is the honor in stealing anyone's most valuable possession-life?"

"Laure, how can you talk like that? We fight the people who go out just killing and hurting other people. Those are the people we kill, and sure, we loot their shit. But they were people who lived off other people and hurt everyone. You know how it is."

"Indeed, I do. The fact is we never know the whole story when we deal with bandits, necromancers, vampires, thieves. There is always more. We can only understand what we have seen and experienced. We don't know why people do things, yet we are constantly forced to act and react without full knowledge. How do we know we are right to end a person's life?"

"Usually when they attack first is a good sign," retorted Farkas irritably.

Head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut, Laure laughed, "That sums it up nicely, truth be told. I won't ever fault a person for fighting to keep their life, nor the lives of their loved ones. Back to the original topic though, how angry do you think he'll be to find out about my associates?"

"Are you really a thief, Laure?"

"Aye, I am. Not only am I a rotten, thieving scoundrel, I am the Guild Master. For what it's worth."

"You're what? All I've ever seen you do is give."

"I _am_ the Thieves Guild Master, Farkas. I run it-well, I did—with lots of help. Mostly I've turned it over to the others these days; I just can't be there. And if I want anyone to trust me as the Dragonborn, well, I can't be too closely associated with the Guild. I'm already on rotten ice for being a mer."

"So you must be a really good thief, huh? Want to try to steal something from me? Just to see if you can?"

Laure slapped his chest with her open palm. "There, you can have your heart back!"

Farkas reeled back in mock pain, clutching his chest. "Aaah, I can feel again! Why? Take it back, I don't want it anymore!"

Laure pounced on him, "See, try to do the right thing..." His arms folded tightly around her and his solid bulk cushioned them as they hit the ground with a small thump. She laid her head on his broad chest, listening to his breath and heart for a few moments.

"He'll be upset, but I don't think he'll be able to stay mad. He adores you like none other. Just be honest with him, and leave the rest for time to sort out." Her shield-brother's deep voice rumbled pleasantly in her ear. Eventually Farkas rolled them over and they lay side by side quietly thinking in the grass a moment longer before they decided to get back on the road.

* * *

A mile or so down the road, both Laure and Farkas caught the first whiff of vampire. Although it was broad daylight, the two of them circled the craggy spire of rock with caution. Broken Fang cave was a longstanding hideout for the bloodsuckers, and its relative proximity to the road made it a dangerous area for common travelers.

They were able to sniff out a handful of separate scents from the cave. Without words, they decided to come back later with reinforcements. They trotted on, slinking through the brush now, near the area the courier had been accosted by a couple of bandits. Two keen noses sniffed the air, soon locating a pair of scents.

Patiently, Farkas and Laure stalked through the folded hills and meadows, surveying the small camp from afar. Two men lounged about the squalid camp, bickering sporadically then lapsing into sullen silence. From the looks of it, these were most likely the men who had assaulted the courier, but Laure wanted to be sure.

While she and Farkas were laying flat in the grass, a small doe wandered near the camp, grabbing the attention of the two men. They scurried to shoot the deer, yet their wild shots simply scared their prey off, and the two men set to bickering once more, this time not settling down in volume.

"Idiot! You should have held your shot until it was closer!"

"At least I had my shot lined up. You were fumbling like a child with a toy bow!" The argument escalated from there; and within seconds, they were drawing blades on each other, circling and issuing threats and taunts. Blades met with a clash that echoed loudly about the small clearing.

Laure and Farkas watched from a safe distance, bemused and at the same time horrified. They had known there was a chance they would need to kill a few bandits, but hadn't counted on their quarry doing the job for them. Within a fairly short amount of time, both men fell gasping and bleeding to the ground, still feebly trying to stab each other one last time.

Laure couldn't take it any longer and rose to one knee, took aim with her bow and finished both men. There was no sport, nor glory to such an end, but she just couldn't sit and spectate any longer while they flailed at each other. She turned to see Farkas hoisting himself up, a glum expression on his face.

"Well, that's done. What say we get back to town and round up reinforcements to clear out some bloodsuckers?" She shouldered her bow, looking east toward home. She wished she and Farkas were a bit more prepared; she was eager to finish the vampires in Broken Fang cave while she was out this far. But she knew it would be wiser to come back with more blades. _Two werewolves is more than enough to take out a few vampires and their thralls..._

Farkas said over his shoulder, "Your right, we could. Vilkas would be pissed, though. Too bad he's not back yet. We could really tear into 'em!" They loped a wide circle around the vampire lair with the lowering sun at their backs.

* * *

Laure stood on the front steps of Jorrvaskr, eyes closed. Her mind was roaming far, her senses and thoughts cast wide, searching for a hint of her returning lover. Her patience was rewarded finally; a flash of light far away at the edges of her inner sight. Soon it was rushing toward her, still far, but hurrying now. It was almost like she could hear his voice already. _I've missed you...I'm hurrying...I'm on my way...soon._

Laure turned her head and opened her eyes, meeting Farkas' bright gaze. "I got it covered here. Go. Don't break a leg, though." She was already halfway down the stairs, then skipping around the Gildergreen, which was now blooming in riotous profusion.

"Be back soon, brother!" she called back as she slipped around the scrum of people that had formed on the top of the steps leading to the Plains district. Moments later she was leaping atop Roast, bareback, nudging the mare into a swift gallop. They flew the first mile down the road, but then Laure eased off and let Roast pick her own pace, which turned out to be a quick ground-eating trot that pleased Laure as well. Soon she could smell him, near and yet still a few miles off.

Unerringly they raced toward each other, crossing hills, cutting off a loop of the road to streak toward their lovers' arms. With a jingle of the harnesses and triumphant whoops, they finally met. Vilkas turned his horse to the side, let her sidle up next to him. His strong arms opened and she leaned over, let him scoop her from the back of her horse and cradle her across his lap. She buried her nose under his chin and breathed in his smoke and pine and blood scent, eyes closed blissfully.

His fingers tightened in her short hair, lifted her face to cover it with kisses. Lips finally meeting with a sigh of relief. "Good to see you again, my love."

"Aye, very good." She didn't realize her fingers were already plucking at the buckles to his armor, but the sound of another horse approaching, and Ria's cheerful greeting pulled her attention to the surrounding world again.

"You know he's done nothing but pine and ramble on about you for the last two weeks, right? What did you do to him?" the cute brunette wanted to know.

"Do you really want to know that, shield-sister?" Laure retorted with an arched eyebrow and broad, suggestive grin. Vilkas smirked over his mate's shoulder, furthering Ria's sudden wish to retract the question.

"Ah, no. Come to think of it, I don't want to know. Gross." She turned away with a little grin of her own. She trotted her horse slowly up the hill, while Vilkas maneuvered Laure around so she sat astride his gelding in front of him. She leaned back against him, nuzzling whatever part of him she could reach, while Roast followed behind, ears pricked toward home and a trough of sweet hay.

* * *

The four remaining members of the Inner Circle of the Companions spread out, eying the cave mouth. Four hearts pounded out a rapid, steady beat. Bright early-morning sun shone through the scattered rain clouds that had drenched the plain the night before. It failed to penetrate far into the crack opening into Broken Fang cave. Swords drawn and ready, they slipped quietly forward, the light of Dawnbreaker shattering the darkness.

An hour later they emerged again, bloodied, panting and tired, yet all alive. The first three had been laughably easy to slay, having only been weak thralls to the vampires. The vampires themselves however had proven tougher. Yet tough was a relative term when speaking of four werewolves, armed and alert, on the hunt.

Laure sifted through a pile of loot taken from the cave. A long ebony sword with intricate scrolling inlaid in bright metal caught her eye. It's gleaming dark length had an attractive curve that appealed to her sense of beauty. The only thing preventing her from claiming it was the fact that it was a greatsword, more suited to Vilkas' or Farkas' fighting style.

Farkas, however, was content with his Skyforge steel, while Vilkas was still enjoying his glittering glass two-hander. Aela had no interest in a blade so large and heavy, which left it to Laurelin to claim. She hefted it in her palms, felt it's solid weight, slid one hand down length, and tested its balance. Perfect in spite of the weight.

"No excuses with this one, love. I expect to see you out training every day," remarked her mate.

"Every day I'm not off fighting dragons, you mean?" she teased while sheathing the dark sword. She was starting to amass quite a collection of swords by now."Well, we should get back to the horses if we want to get home by din-"

A huge, dark shadow passed overhead, dipping into the bright nooks and flitting by in an instant. All four jumped to their feet, bows drawn, heads tipped to the sky. A great roar shook the air, silencing the bird and insect song.

"Shit, is that thing big!" breathed Farkas, his usual unflappable calm ripped away by the sudden appearance of a dragon.

"Aye, it's big, but it has it's weak points. Eyes, wings, mouth, inner joints. We've discussed this enough; mind the tail, keep moving, don't bunch up." The enormous beast circled over again, ignoring the arrows that were being shot its way. Its fanged maw opened and fire roiled out, washing over the damp grass and incinerating it in a blink. Companions dove out of the way, cursing from the scant cover of the rocks. As soon as it flapped away, they emerged again, peppering it with barbed shafts.

This one didn't want to land, Laure decided. It hovered, circled, dove and then climbed back into the sky on broad wings. She and Aela focused on shooting as many holes into the leathery wings as they could. Their efforts paid off more quickly than anticipated when a great rip appeared in one wing, and the dragon spiraled to the ground, tumbling awkwardly. Farkas and Vilkas both rushed in before the dust had settled, swords flashing. Laure and Aela dropped their bows near their packs and drew swords, edging into the melee.

Farkas and Vilkas were shouting back and forth to each other, coordinating attacks, pulling back, rushing in. The dragon, for his part, was lashing about with his tail, snapping furiously at the twins, still breathing torrents of fire periodically.

The Companions rushed in and out of range, carving with blades, cursing the toughness of its hide, shouting encouragement back and forth. Laure answered the dragon's Shouts of fire with her own when she could and pummeled it with the fury of all three words of her Unrelenting Force.

The dragon lurched forward on its wingtips, snapping at Aela, who had been buffeted by the tail seconds before and was struggling to her feet. Blood streamed across her lacerated cheek and shoulder, smearing her green warpaint. Farkas spun between her and the dragon, sword high, and chopped down, smashing into its nose with enough force to drive its chin into the dirt. Aela regained her balance and lashed out with her own dripping blade, smiling grim thanks to her shield-brother.

Slashing, chopping, spinning, and ducking continuously, the four warriors battled the beast. Skilled as they all were, it came as no surprise to them when the it fell to the ground dead and began burning. Aela and Farkas had heard the stories, but this was the first time they had been present to see Laure absorbing the soul.

Farkas' eyes were round, breath coming in heaving pants while the light streamed around him. Aela paced a few moments, watching it all pour into Laure without a word. When the last glimmer of the soul had disappeared, they all began taking stock of injuries. Damages were not as bad as they could have been, although every one was exhausted and bloodied, slightly burned to boot. They sifted through the remains and came up with some gold and gems.

Farkas turned over a few small bones that had dropped free, tried bending a large scale that had flaked away, and gave a small grunt of approval at its toughness. "We could probably make some amazing armor out of some of this stuff; those scales are hard!" he observed a moment later. "We would need more than what's here, though."

Laure nodded. She hadn't really thought about making something out of the remains; she had always been too preoccupied to give it much consideration. She continued her task of carefully cleaning the gore from Aela's face wound, while she thought of the possibilities. "I want to use a touch of healing on you, sister; otherwise that wound may fester." Aela scowled but let the elf use her healing magics to knit the wound closed. She had to admit it was quick and didn't hurt anymore, but the weird itching of magic lingered.

Laure turned her attention to the twins, but they had sustained relatively minor injuries that they were content to drink potions for.

"Well, shall we try this again? Our horses probably took off during the dragon fight, so we should get walking." Vilkas grabbed his pack and shouldered it, looking around the battlefield once more. Soon all four of them were swiftly crossing the tundra, packs heavy with loot, recounting the excitement of the battle just won. Now if they could just get home before supper, they would be able to clean up and lift a mug or ten while telling the tale of their adventure to the whelps. Luck was with them one more time and they discovered the horses right where they had left them.

* * *

Vilkas watched Laurelin from nearby. She was laughing and drinking with the rest of them, but he could tell her thoughts were elsewhere. She glanced his way and flicked her eyes to the door. He shrugged and nodded, tipping his mug back to drain it in a long gulp.

She stood up and began saying her goodbyes, claiming exhaustion after the busy day. They ribbed her affectionately about being an old woman needing her rest, which she easily agreed was true. Farkas raised his mug in farewell, and turned back to the whelps, who wanted to hear the story again. She and Vilkas met at the front doors, pushing through and into the night.

They paused under the fragrant blooms of the Gildergreen tree, Laure feeling the warmth and vitality flowing through it now, tingling under her fingertips.

"It's recovering beautifully, love. You did a wonderful job bringing it back to life. I have many fond memories of things that happened under its branches, and it was sad to see it decline. You gave Whiterun a little happiness and pride back by restoring it. Thank you." He lifted her chin and softly kissed her nose, then drifted to her lips, pulling her lean body in to fit her to him. Long moments he stood embracing her, fists coiled into her hair, then sliding down her back, feeling her spine, then back up again to trace her jaw.

They drifted a few moments on a cloud of blossom scented kisses, until a passing guard remarked, "No lollygaggin'," and moved on with a smirk. Vilkas led her around the tree and they meandered their way toward Breezehome arm in arm. He opened the door for her and they kicked off boots and dropped packs in a pile on the floor. They heard Lydia humming quietly to herself up in her room, but she was learning that unless her Thane called her, the mer usually just wanted to quietly eat or read, sometimes both, neither of which she needed help with. The house was too small to constantly be hovering in each other's company.

Pouring drinks for the two of them, Vilkas sat next to Laure near the fire and stretched his long legs toward it, handing her a mug as he did. She smiled and accepted her drink, staring thoughtfully into the fire. She sipped and popped to her feet, wandered the house a few moments, put a few things away, and then returned to the fire. Upstairs, Lydia could be heard turning in for the night.

Finally Laurelin sank down next to Vilkas and drew a deep breath, exhaling through puffed cheeks. She sipped her mead again, gazing into the fire once more.

"Tell me what's on your mind, love," he encouraged. She grinned weakly at him and tossed back the rest of her drink, setting the cup down on the floor.

"Not really sure how to say this, and you already know what I'm going to say-at least I think you do-but here goes." She winced slightly as she continued, biting her lip. "I wish I was more drunk. Not what I meant to say. I'm a thief. Have been for years. I have to tell you; it's been too long already..." she rambled on until Vilkas hushed her.

"I thought you were going to tell me something I didn't already know. You are correct, I did already know, or rather, have suspicions. From the start, actually."

"Why let me into the Companions, then?" she asked quietly.

"The old man liked what he saw in you, that's why. Because in spite of your old hobby, nothing ever went missing in the mead hall. Because you proved yourself to be a worthy Companion. Why did you wait so long to tell me? Why tell me now?" His brow furrowed over his silver eyes, bright amidst the black paint he wore today.

"Because I didn't want this ugly secret between us any longer. Before we were involved, it wasn't necessary for you to know, and it is information that might put you in danger. Now we have this bond, and I can't hide this thing about myself from the man I love. The mammoth in the corner was getting out of hand, and you deserve to know the truth. There is more, though. It wasn't just a hobby. I am a very good thief, I worked my ass to get where I am now-"

"And that is?"

"I'm the head of the Thieves Guild." He snorted softly, clearly not believing her latest claim, until he saw her still meeting his gaze, a hint of pride lifting her chin.

"How long?"

"Several years now. The old leader was a bastard and caused too many problems. A few associates and I managed to get rid of him, later he betrayed us all. Then they chose me to take over. Gods only know why, but they did. Since then we've grown wealthy and powerful again. Are you mad at me?"

"Of course I'm mad! You didn't lie to me directly, but Laurelin, it's been months. I'm upset, aye; why wait so long?"

Laure ran her palm up the back of her neck, ruffling her short hair. "How should I have brought it up? 'By the way, lover, I'm the best damn thieving spy you've met, but don't worry. I don't steal from those who have less than I do, so your safe'? Or how about, 'We only steal from rich arseholes who deserve to be robbed.' You like that one?"

He held up his hand, "Enough. You had your reasons, and I'm sure they seemed like a good idea at the time. I can't pretend to understand why, nor that I approve. You are a capable hunter and provider. Why would you need to pick pockets?"

"I didn't do it because I 'needed' to. I did it because of the challenge, the thrill, the game. Actually, I'm a mediocre pickpocket at best. Locks and espionage are my forte. There's nothing like teasing a lock open and making copies of things that were never meant to see the light of day. Or planting information..." She trailed off, noting the dark look he leveled her way.

"We should continue this conversation tomorrow. For now I have plenty to think about. I think...I'm going for a walk." His voice was calm, his response more placid than she would have thought. His _tone_ and words were calm, but his scent revealed his anger, tightly controlled.

"Do you wish to be alone?"

"No, but I think some time and space will help me more than company right now. Get some rest, love. I'll be back shortly." He draped a cloak over his shoulders and slipped out the door. Laure sat and stared at the door long after it closed.

* * *

Vilkas turned west and left Whiterun through the front gate. His heavy steps carried him toward the river, its mellow, rushing song calling him closer. He walked slowly, lost in thought as he considered everything she told him this evening, everything she hadn't yet voiced. He had wondered many times about her involvement with the thieves in Riften. What other secrets did she keep?

Part of him was furious that she had hidden all the facts for so long, that she didn't seem remorseful at all, not the tiniest bit ashamed of her recent profession. Why would the gods choose a thief to embody the salvation of the world?

A large shadow paced quietly next to him, but its appearance didn't surprise him. He'd expected this one. They continued down to the bridge together, neither one speaking out loud. They stopped in the middle of the bridge, leaning over the low stone wall, one lost in thought, one wanting to help.

"You wanna talk about it?" Farkas finally asked.

"Nope." Farkas shrugged and leaned against the wall, arms folded across his massive chest. Vilkas wandered in circles, gazing at the stars, fingers laced behind his head. His circles brought him to the end of the bridge, down to the bank where he and the woman he loved had stared at the stars, before he admitted his feelings to himself even. He had been aware of her somewhat shady past even then. It hadn't stopped him from caring for her. But he had thought she was only a former thief. He had never anticipated she was the leader of the verminous Guild.

But how could _his_ Laurelin, who was one of the sunniest, most honest and caring people he had known, be a rotten thief? It didn't make sense. Why would she stoop so low?

"Do you think it really matters, Farkas?"

"What, her being a thief? Naw, we know who she is in her heart, better than most. What more do you need to know?"

"Farkas, it goes deeper than her just taking the occasional trinket. It doesn't bother you that she is the leader of the Guild of thieves we are supposed to hunt down and bring to justice? Years we've spent trying to get our blades to the throat of the Guild, and the fucking Master her self prances in and we accept her into our ranks with open arms and make her the bloody Harbinger!" Vilkas calmed himself with an effort.

"What's the problem? Nothing comes up missing; she's not stealing anything now, least not that I've seen. I don't think her heart is in thieving anymore. Plus, she told me not long ago that they deal in information more than um, goods. Says it brings in more gold and less blood is spilled over paper than gold; but then she laughed a little and rolled her eyes, so I don't know what she really meant."

"She was being sarcastic, brother. Information is almost always more valuable than gold, and it can be harder to detect its theft. Make no mistake, blood is spilled every second out of desire for revealed secrets."

"So what now? Does this really change anything?"

"It changes nothing, brother. I'm trying to work some things out in my head is all, and it doesn't help that all I can think about is hurrying back to her! Part of me feels deceived, but I know she didn't lie... she just-she never revealed the whole truth, which hurts almost as much."

"Want to hit something? It's been a while since we've had a good match. I promise not to hit you as hard as last time since you're being all mopey." The big man raised his huge fists, making a few playful jabs at his brother. Vilkas deftly pushed the blows to the side and returned one of his own. Farkas smiled and danced to the side. "That's more like it."

They sparred for a while, Vilkas letting his frustrations out, Farkas absorbing his brother's ire in his usual level-headed manner. Vilkas ducked a swing from his brother, grunting out as he did, "Why didn't she just tell me sooner? I thought she trusts me."

"Some things you don't just blurt out, brother. Even I know that. We didn't exactly come right out and tell her about the blood, did we? I'm sure if you had asked outright, she would have been more-oof, good one there!-she would have told you sooner. If she didn't trust you, she never would have said anything at all."

Vilkas dropped his curled fists, a pained expression on his face."You are correct, we hid what we are from her, but for us it's a matter of survival. Silver Hand, Vigilants of Stendarr, assassins, they would all love to take us out. We have to keep that secret."

"So what makes us different from her? She told us precisely what we needed to know at the time. The rest she kept to herself same as us. You think she doesn't have enemies and people who would love to bury her? Plus it isn't just herself she's protecting, all of her old friends rely on her keeping quiet as well." The big man lowered his fists and rested them on his hips as he stared down at his older brother.

"Vilkas, are you more upset that she's a thief or that she waited so long to tell us?"

"She didn't wait as long to tell you, did she? It's both, I want her to be honest with me, feel like she can tell me anything-"

"You've only been together a few months now. She doesn't know everything about you, and you are still getting to know her. She has what, two hundred or more years of experience. Learning everything about her isn't going to happen overnight. And let's face it, you have a temper. I wouldn't want to tell you I was a thief."

"I guess it would be easier to reconcile if the Guild was part of her past, but I don't think she will ever turn from it completely. What am I supposed to do with that, Farkas?"

"Talk with her. Don't yell. Other than that, I dunno. She loves you, I know that much, and you love her. You two need to work it out. How much does it matter what she did or who she is to other people? You two have a link; don't sever it for something so small."

"I have no intentions of severing our bond. I couldn't even if I wanted to. If only it was such a small thing as you make out," groused Vilkas, scowling at his boots

"So you gonna talk to her, or should I finish mashing you to a pulp?"

"Enough mashing, I'll go back home and talk with her. You're an arsehole you know."

"What did I do?"

"Nothing, you just defended her the whole time when I was looking for a little brotherly support." Vilkas let a faint smile soften his face.

Farkas slung a heavy arm over his twin's shoulder, "I just don't want you to scare her off. I love her too." They turned and headed back into the city, quiet again.

* * *

Laurelin stood up when she heard his quiet steps approaching. He came in a moment later, nodding over his shoulder to Farkas, who rumbled a quiet, "Good night."

He met her eyes and closed the door behind him. Smiling a bit nervously, Laure announced to her mate, "I'm ready to tell you all of the story, if you'll hear it."

Vilkas smiled warmly and opened his arms, which she gladly stepped into. "Of course. I'll pour."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine-Secrets and Strays**

Bright, persistent birdsong woke Laurelin. She was tangled in the furs with Vilkas, skin clammy and sweating, mouth tasting like a dragon had crawled in and died. She tried swallowing and decided the dragon had been an undead dragon. A _drunk_ undead dragon. Eyes still closed, she felt around for the water pitcher and eased it up over her mouth. Drinking deeply, she wished she had paced herself a bit more during her all-night talk with her mate.

True to his word, he had listened and poured drink after drink while she had told him the long story. After a certain point, it all became quite fuzzy. She was pretty sure he had taken it well. Well enough to come back to bed with her, and if the stickiness wasn't all just from drunken sweats, well...

"Confessions sure take a lot out of you," observed the mer quietly, dangling the empty pitcher over the side of the bed.

"Sure do, some more than others," a deep, rusty sounding voice replied from the vicinity of the floor. Laure yelped in surprise, eyes flying open, then squinching shut once more, and she lost her loose grip on the pitcher. Slowly she cracked her eyelids, letting in slivers of the world.

"Ow! Why'd ya do that?" Farkas sat up, rubbing his forehead, where a sizable red welt was forming. Even sitting on the floor, his shoulders rose well above the mattress, and she couldn't help but notice they were bare. "You dropped this." He lifted the pitcher up and rested his massive arms on the straw then laid his head down.

"Farkas, why are you naked? And on the floor of my bedroom?"

"You don't remember making me strip before I got to hear your story?" Laure shook her head, a slightly horrified look on her face. "Huh, well you made us all get down to our smalls, said something about it being easier if we were all naked, then you ranted about theater and bards for a while. By the way, I'll take up the lute again; just stop harping at me about it."

"Aww, Farkas you made a pun! I'm proud of you. Now tell me what the fuck happened last night. Did we-" She quirked an eyebrow at him and bit her lip.

"You wanted to, but we all decided since you were so drunk we shouldn't. That was quite a tale though."

"Um, what exactly did I tell you?"

"How you met Brynjolf, became a member of the Guild. Your old Master betrayed you all and tried to kill you when you learned the truth. How you became the Master and run it now. You did tell Vilkas earlier there was one thing you absolutely couldn't reveal, but it seems like you told us both pretty much everything we wanted to know. You were still talking when you passed out."

"So you slept on the floor? Why didn't you climb into bed here?"

"Your bed is big Laure, but not big enough for all three of us in a drunken stupor. A few hours on the floor isn't going to kill me. How's your head?"

"Pounding. I think something died in my mouth while I slept."

"You should get my brother to make his hangover cure when he gets up. Works wonders the next day." He heaved his massive bulk up, stretching stiff muscles with loud pops and cracks. Setting the water pitcher on the nightstand, the big man skimmed his fingers through his tangled hair. "What do you have to eat here? I'm starving."

Laure began wiggling out of Vilkas' arms. He clutched her closer for a few seconds then released her with a groan. She slid off the bed and onto the floor that Farkas had just occupied before reluctantly scrambling to her feet. Farkas offered her a hand and they slowly went downstairs to clean up and put together something to break their fast.

Vilkas came down a while later, yawning and rubbing the smeared warpaint around his eyes. "Three hangover potions, aye? I'll get started right away." He disappeared into the lab, coming out a quarter of an hour later with a jug of something in hand. Laure and Farkas were just finishing up making some food, so they all sat down to chase away the worst of the hangovers they were all feeling.

Vilkas' concoction worked wonders, and within a short time, the headaches and shakes were receding, bellies full of nourishing food further helping them all to recover.

"Well, love, when you tell a tale you certainly don't hold much back do you? That was quite a story. Thank you for sharing it with us; it's good to know the truth about your past. It was troubling to know you were keeping things from us all this time." Vilkas had his chin propped up oh his fist, eyes half shut.

"Hmm, I didn't want to lie to you or keep the truth hidden any longer; sorry it took me so long." She stood up and began clearing the plates with the help of both brothers. Vilkas folded his arms about her when they had finished, pulling her to his chest.

"I love you, Laurelin, and now hopefully there will be no dark secrets to worry about, aye?"

"Aye, love." _Except that one..._

Farkas wrapped the two of them in his own arms and squeezed gently. "That is so sweet you two! Love wins again!" They were still standing there together when the front door opened and Lydia walked in, whistling a little tune.

The tune stopped and the housecarl immediately wanted to know, "Why are the three of you hugging naked in the kitchen?"

* * *

Weeks passed quickly for Laurelin, so quickly she could hardly keep count. Vilkas had been called away again, so she and Farkas continued her training as much as possible between dragon attacks.

They were happening everywhere now, and Laure felt driven to hunt them whenever possible. Sometimes the dragons burned and left; other times they lingered, claiming territories near their former burial sites. She often found the giant creatures guarding the curved stone walls inscribed with words of power, new words of her Thu'um.

At home, she read as many of the histories of the Dragon War as she could, seeking clues, some hidden insight as to why she had been chosen. She continued to search, even though the results remained unsatisfactory.

In her spare time, she trained relentlessly, seeking that harmonious union between blade, body and mind. Farkas worked her ruthlessly alongside Torvar and the others, not easing up on her because of her status, nor their friendship. Now that he had fought dragons himself, he understood that she truly needed to be in top form if she wanted to survive, so they went for long runs with heavy packs on their shoulders, further encumbered by wolf armor-he scolded her for wearing leather one time-and her new giant ebony sword.

Slowly her endurance increased, and her muscles settled more easily into the forms and patterns of swordplay. Still she worked herself to weariness every day, not content with mediocrity.

One morning, Vilkas and his twin sat on the back porch of Jorrvaskr eating breakfast together while Laurelin worked out. Her skill with all of the weapons she used was increasing rapidly and her confidence growing, every action more fluid and instinctual. Vilkas watched with a critical eye as she moved through various traditional forms and exercises, slowly at first, then building in speed. Her muscles, while not nearly as huge as the twins', nor even Njada's, were sculpted and remarkably strong. Vilkas had to admit she was getting damned good with that new blade of hers.

At least he _was_ thinking that until her saw her suddenly curve her sword around her body, rolling the back of the blade around her neck, metal armor shrieking slightly as her elbow pivoted over head and dropped. Suddenly the blade was lashing out from a completely unexpected angle, while her whole body ducked and spun under her stabbing blade, putting her effectively behind an imaginary foe she had just stabbed in the chest.

"What on Nirn is that woman doing? Did she just...that's dangerous!"

Farkas flicked his eyes from the mesmerizing display to his spluttering brother and back to the fluid movements of the elf. "Don't worry, brother-she's got this. We've been working on some stuff while you were out on all those jobs. I've been helping her with her armor, how to use it to her advantage. Some of this stuff she comes up with on her own; I think she adapting her own style to the weapons. I swear, she's making it into a dance." His bright gaze was still following every curve and arc of her blade.

Vilkas noted some of the hunger that Farkas looked at Laurelin with. He sympathized, actually. "Still a little smitten?"

"Yeah, you could probably say that. Ever hurt her, and I'll rip your balls off." Farkas leveled a serious glance at his older brother, before serving himself another helping of food. Vilkas barely seemed to hear the threat.

He stared at his mate, in awe of her precision, noting-not for the first time-how her attacks used her speed, momentum versus strength, blade flashing out in flat, tight planes around her body. She continually rolled the tip of the darn thing around her body, using it to hide her intentions, draw the eye away from her true attacks when they came. And for all the _flightiness_ of it, he could see how she would make it effective. Each move was balanced and flowed into the next like water. "You know how easily she could do that herself, brother."

"Sure, but I'd want to help. Or watch. Just be what she needs, all right?"

"It's what I strive for myself."

Farkas humphed and cleared his throat, calling out to Laurelin. "Hey why don't you show off with the short ones now? Vilkas hasn't seen that stuff yet."

"You gonna spar with me brother, or do I get to work up a sweat all by myself?

"I'm still eating. Go on, show your man the new moves we figured out! I'll warm up after I finish this plate."

She shrugged, sheathed the ebony greatsword, and drew two scimitars. She stretched elaborately, then slowly began warming up, adapting to the different shape and weight of her new weapons.

"Her dual wielding is amazing with those things. Just wait, brother. You'll see!" Farkas said around a mouthful of food. Vilkas was forced to agree. The wood and straw practice dummy she set to work on was quickly reduced to small bits of tinder, and she sheathed the swords before coming up to the benches for a drink of water.

"I think I see the basis of the two-handed moves. It was a modified form of fighting with a quarterstaff, aye?" Vilkas asked as she plopped herself down finally. She nodded while swallowing down a huge cup of water. "It looks pretty, but you leave yourself open to far too many attacks with all that looping and twirling."

Wiping her mouth, Laure explained, "Aye, some of it is a modified form of staff fighting. My grip most of the time is similar to what I would use if in close quarters-one hand near the hilt, the other at the back, acting as leverage and direction. Less using small arm muscles and using more of the momentum and making shorter, more directed strikes rather than broad heavy swings. When I roll it across and around my body, it gives me a little extra momentum and confuses the shit out of whoever I'm fighting. I'm still working on it, not sure how practical it would be in real battle. I've been sticking to the tried and true for real fights. What do you think of the scimitars? Those are fun to play with, so...curvy. I think they're sexy."

"Once again, you were leaving your self open with some of it..."

"Oh come on, you're probably the only person who would notice, brother," retorted Farkas, shoving his empty plate aside.

"Notice it and take every advantage of it, aye. I don't like seeing her leave herself open like that."

"Vilkas, it's all just an experiment; don't worry, I'm not going to get myself killed doing something reckless." She leaned over and offered her lips for a kiss then helped herself to the leftover venison still sitting on the table. "Besides, it's fun, and the expression on your face right now is worth it." She smirked his way before heaving herself up to head inside for a quick bath before she began going through the messages that had arrived this morning.

Vilkas watched her leave, admiring her posture and grace as she disappeared. His brother's gravelly voice dragged his attention from the doors.

"Come on, let's you and me warm up. She'll give us no end of grief if she bests us because we're being lazy while she trains her ass off."

Vilkas shrugged and hopped off the bench, grabbing the nearest practice blade. Farkas joined him and they began their own dance with blade and shield.

Sweat lazily seeped down his forehead, skillfully running around his eyebrows and into his eyes, burning and distracting him from the latest feint and followup his brother had struck with. Blinking furiously, Vilkas absorbed most of the heavy blow on his shield, the force still rattling up his arm. "Nice one, Farkas. Hit me hard enough and I might just fall over," grunted the shorter twin, not giving his sibling time to respond. His own blunted blade swept down and out, and driving Farkas' arm wide, and Vilkas stepped in close, causing the big man to hop back a few steps to take advantage of his enormous strength and greater reach. Vilkas gave him a little shove with his shield to see if he could cause him to over balance, but the surprisingly agile Farkas managed to keep his balance and he punched out with one massive fist, straight to his brother's armored gut. Both reeled for a moment, grinning nonetheless.

Looking down at his bleeding knuckles, admiring how quickly his body began knitting the split skin back together, he casually remarked to his brother, "I'll miss that part at least."

Vilkas straightened, eyes wide. "Are you really?"

_"Thinking."_  
_"Positive?"_  
_"Not yet. Don't tell her, please."_ They had inadvertently lapsed back into the silent communion they shared, one where it wasn't even necessary to think whole words, the thoughts became so attuned it was automatically just shared, known like each thought came from one whole person. If Farkas was thinking about curing himself that was up to him.

When she walked out a few moments later, Vilkas was still staring at his brother with concern. Laurelin was chewing her lower lip thoughtfully as she read the folded note in her hand. Somehow she managed to dodge the chairs and practice weapons strewn about, never looking up.

"Vilkas," she called out, "we just received an urgent message from Falk Firebeard in Solitude. It seems they are still having problems and it looks like it's much worse than we both thought. Look at this." She handed over the letter and paced around him while he read.

_Harbinger,  
Over the last few days we've had some disturbing information come to light regarding the events at Wolfskull Cave and the summoning and binding ritual you interrupted there.  
Given your involvement with that event, I'm asking you to return to Solitude to help us once more. I'm wary of putting all the details in print; please come see me at the Blue Palace.  
Sincerely,  
Falk Firebeard_

Vilkas read the note again, then folded it before handing it back to her. "Looks like we should get up there; do we have time before Delphine has that invitation to the Embassy?"

"I think we do, plus she can reach us up there if she needs to. I'll head down to the house and load my pack. Farkas, are you coming? I think we could use your blade for this one."  
"Love to," was his simple reply as he turned to the back doors, intending to grab his armor, weapons and backpack. "Meet you down at Breezehome."

Vilkas and Laure trotted through town, but rather than head straight for home, she veered across the street to the Drunken Huntsman and pulled the door open. Vilkas followed her in and they were immediately greeted by Elrindir, the Bosmer co-owner of the small establishment.

"Ah... how my heart soars to look upon a sister Bosmer. Please, how can I serve your hunting needs?" The mer behind the counter exclaimed when she stepped through his door.

Laure smiled over at the handsome Bosmer, hand over her heart as she nodded. "Good morning, Elrindir, how fares business?"

The strawberry-blonde-haired mer frowned a brief moment before answering, "Well enough on my end. Anoriath still thinks we should just give up the business and go back to hunting in the wilds. He hates standing at the stall hawking meat to the townsfolk."

"I wouldn't want to do that myself, so I sympathize. Any word from home lately?"

"Aye, we had letter from our father not long ago. Things are still difficult in Valenwood. The Altmer still have their fists closed around the nation...but this isn't why you came here today is it? How may I help you? You need my entire stock of ebony arrows, don't you?"

"Nothing less, my friend. How many do you have for me today?" She stood with hands on hips while Elrindir shuffled around in the stockroom. She nodded to the Dunmeri warrior, Jenassa, sitting nearby. Jenassa lifted her mug and nodded in return. A moment later, Elrindir returned, setting a cloth-wrapped bundle on the counter.

"There we are, two dozen of my finest ebony tipped arrows. I even managed to get the white goose feathers you like." Laure and Elrindir haggled a few moments over price, then a large purse of gold was slid over the counter, and she scooped up her purchase with a smile.

"Always a pleasure, Elrindir. Perhaps when Vilkas and I return from Solitude we might share a tankard and a meal?"

"It would be an honor and a pleasure to dine with you, Laurelin. Safe travels until then." He watched the unusually pale Bosmer woman leave with her Nord mate. The smile drifted off his face and a petulant frown pulled his lips down. Such a shame the most attractive Bosmeri lady in Skyrim had bonded with a Nord. Still, Nords had a rather shorter life expectancy than mer, so one never knew...

* * *

Vilkas waited until they were behind the closed doors of Breezehome before mentioning, "That Elrindir is more than a little interested in you."

"Of course he is. I'm considered exotic by Bosmer standards. Most of us aren't as pale as I am."

"Are you going to pursue anything with him?" _Damn!_ Blurted out like a teenage boy before he could stop himself.

"Vilkas, he is certainly one of the more handsome Bosmer in Skyrim, but I have no intentions of 'pursuing' anything with him. He's just a friend. A gorgeous friend...now that you mention it. . . maybe . . ." She turned to him and slid her long arms around his neck. "I jest. Nothing to be concerned about, love. You keep me quite happy and satisfied." Her teeth nibbled his lower lip playfully before she pulled out of his arms and began packing a few items into her knapsack.

Farkas joined them moments later, ready to get on the road. "Are we walking, riding? I forgot to ask earlier." He helped fold and roll the large tent they had purchased not too long ago into a manageable bundle, then dropped it by the front door with the other gear.

"I think riding would be good. Less time on the road, and let the horses carry the tent and gear," Laurelin replied from the alchemy lab where she was rummaging through a chest for bottles of healing potions. Soon they were grabbing a quick bite to eat, then heading out the door, calling their goodbyes to Lydia around bites of venison chop.

Half an hour later saw the three Companions astride their horses, gear safely stowed. Farkas and Vilkas flanked Laure in an instinctive protective position, and they trotted swiftly up the west road toward Solitude, midday sun shining down on them through scattered high clouds.

* * *

By late afternoon, the clouds had darkened and dropped lower and lower, threatening rain. They were approaching Rorikstead, but none of the three wanted to stop yet, so they pushed on, in spite of the approaching storm. When the first tiny drops pattered down, they pulled out heavy, fur-lined cloaks and kept riding, hoods pulled low.

The wind was soon screaming over the hills, tossing leaves and branches about, while the occasional lightning strike flickered in the dimming light. Still, Laurelin and the twins pushed on, murmuring encouragement to their mounts when claps of thunder boomed and rolled over their heads.

Visibility was reduced to nothing and they were soaked before Vilkas called out, "We're like to ride off a cliff in this if we continue. We should make camp somewhere and dry off." His words were drowned out in the howling wind, but Laure and Farkas both reined their horses in and began searching for a suitable place to camp. They found what they were looking for in a small overhang tucked away in a narrow canyon, not far from the road.

They staked out the horses, then hurried to put up the tent under the overhang. Soaked and shivering, Laure tried several times to start a fire with her damp tinder before irritably cursing and Shouting it to life.

Farkas raised a brow but said nothing, simply grinned his brother's way. Vilkas hurried to secure the tent and push the miraculously dry furs inside. They made a pile of wood nearby to begin drying out, then huddled into the tent, casting aside wet armor and underclothing, snuggling deep into the warm furs. They munched dried meat and shared several bottles of mead for supper, none of them much feeling like cooking in the storm that still raged overhead.

The fire hissed and steamed when the rain hit it, but thankfully it stayed lit. Warmed finally and feeling restless, Laure slipped out of the tent and stood naked in the rain a moment before calling over her shoulder, "I'm going to take a look around; I'll be back soon." The twins watched her almost shrug herself into her beast shape then bound into the night with a soft growl.

"One of us should go with her." Two pairs of silver-gray eyes met.

"You go, Vilkas. I'll keep the fire going and watch our shit."

Vilkas crawled out of the tent and by the time he was up, he had called his wolf forward and he leaped away, calling to his mate. Farkas laid back, fresh bottle of mead in hand, eyes on the fire. His jaw clenched lightly as he fought down the urge to follow.

They were back a relatively short time later. Vilkas dropped the limp carcass of a doe on the ground near the fire and sank down, and down, until he was a man again, rain streaming off his sleek, muscled form, dark hair plastered over his face. Laure stayed in her beast shape, eyes glowing dangerously in the firelight, towering over Vilkas.

"There is a sizable encampment of bandits over the hill at Robber's Gorge. Feel like a hunt, brother?"

"Sure." He scrambled from the furs and into the wind whipped rain. His hair flew in his eyes, but he didn't bother pushing it aside. He just called his beast and started moving, the shape bursting forward in all its excruciating, rapturous power. Vilkas let his wolf forward once more and they stalked into the darkness.

If asked, Laurelin would have grudgingly admitted that she loved taking out bandit camps. It almost always made travel safer for a while, they usually had decent loot to share out, and they earned the favor of the local jarls. It also gave her a chance to let the beast blood run rampant for a short time. So often it raged quietly within her to be let out. She was a hunter, and she enjoyed stalking the terrified bandits through their encampments while they hid or shouted hollow battle cries.

The dozen or so bandits that had set up crude rockfall traps and wooden platforms stretching over the roadway found the boulders brushed aside by powerful claws or hurled back with crushing force. The pale one leaped up the scaffolding and began tearing it apart, ignoring the stinging arrows that thudded into its hide.

Was it a whole pack of werewolves? The bandits couldn't tell in the darkness with the slashing rain and howling. Wind or wolf? Both! They were everywhere, and the wiser bandits quietly fled to the river and jumped in; letting it carry them away and hopefully survive rapids and falls, rather than face this group of blood-thirsty menaces.

The walkway fell to the ground, taking an archer with it, down to the waiting maws below. The _last_ archer. Looking around, wiping the rain from his eyes, the chief realized the snarls and screaming had stopped. Lightning flashed and the nightmare of three werewolves encircling him flickered and was gone in an instant. He gulped and raised his sword.

"Come and get me then, filthy beasts!" he spat to the darkness.

To his surprise, a remarkably human voice laughed out, "I don't know about you guys but in all this rain I feel pretty clean!"

"Soap would still be appreciated, though, and dry towels," came another voice, this one human but not so raw as the other.

"Not to mention the temperature leaves much to be desired. Why did we leave our nice warm furs again?" This voice female, harder to hear. Lightning flashed again, and the bandit caught a prolonged glimpse of three figures, two huge Nord men with pale skin and dark hair, the third a slender elf with short pale hair, a broad grin on her creepy face with its white eyes.

"It was your idea to come out in this, Laure."

"Ah, that's right. So, you're the last man standing. I figured, for fun, you can choose who you want to fight, blade to blade. If you win, you live. Otherwise..." she trailed off.

"You. I'll fight you, little bitch." He kicked a fallen sword toward the naked woman. He blinked when the giant man behind her laughed.

"Oh, wrong answer, asshole."

"Oh, I don't know brother, she'll make it cleaner and quicker than I would be inclined to," chimed in the other.

Gulping now, still unable to see in the darkness, the bandit readied himself for her attack. She was naked; all he needed to do was get in a good blow to her torso...a shield flew out of the darkness and crashed into his side, but he kept his blade up, and was glad he did. Her attack came an instant later, steel flickering in toward his eyes, and he just managed to deflect that cut. The flurry of strikes that came next left him bewildered, they seemed to come from all directions. Damn elf wasn't standing still. Twice more he managed to block her strikes, the last one still leaving a long, bleeding cut up his forearm. Lightning flashed again and he blinked at the sudden light, and realized the elf wasn't in front of him any more. Lunging forward, he twisted, trying to face her before she got him in the back. Too late his sword moved to intercept hers, and he felt the cold punch of steel to his side, the searing pain of metal sliding back out of his ravaged flesh. His legs crumpled beneath him, and he sprawled in the mud. His next sight was the three naked werewolves gazing down at him.

"Well, he tried to fight well. Brave facing us in the dark like that. Pity, he might have made a good Companion if things had worked out differently."

Blood pooled slowly about him, leeching away the warmth in his body. The female who had killed him asked, "Worth healing him and seeing if we can clean up his act?"

"Such as this one rarely ever truly change their ways, love. Best let him die; he knows our secret."

"I fight... for you...save. Swear!" gasped the bandit desperately.

Golden light sprang up near his face and the wet features of the elf hovered in its nimbus. "Swear to not lift weapon against man, mer, or any thinking creature except in defense of life and I will do my best to save you."

He could only gulp and stutter out, "I sw...wear by Ysg...gramor, p..please!" The light intensified and warmth suddenly filled his chilled shaking limbs, the pain ebbing away slowly. Her face still hovering in the light, concentrating while healing energy flowed into him and knitted the jagged tear in his side.

"If he starts telling people about our condition, it will destroy us, Laurelin! What are you thinking?"

"If he betrays us, I will hunt him down and kill him myself. He swore and I think he means it. Don't you, what was your name?"

"Keiran, please, I won't tell anyone, I swear!" The helm he wore had been knocked loose when he hit the ground, and now that he wasn't about to bleed out in moments he fumbled to take it off his head completely. Her pale hands reached out and eased it away. Dark red hair spilled free of his messy braids, damp with sweat and rain.

"Well Keiran, get used to being called whelp. You've just asked to join the Companions."

"Wait, you're _the_ Companions?"

"Aye, this is Vilkas, and his twin Farkas; they'll be training you. You do as they instruct you, or I shan't be responsible for the beating you get. I am Laurelin."

"You may address her as Harbinger or Dragonborn," interjected Vilkas, still not entirely pleased with this turn of events. He uncorked a bottle of healing potion and passed it over to the wounded man.

"Dragonborn? And Harbinger? By the gods, what is going on here?" wondered Keiran deliriously as he carefully swigged down the potion.

"You have been given a second chance by our inconveniently soft-hearted Harbinger. Don't squander it," advised Vilkas. Farkas had remained silent but watchful, ignoring the rain that still coursed over his naked form.

Keiran shuddered as he remembered the glimpse he'd gotten of them in beast shape, towering, muscled forms heaving as steaming breath roiled between long white fangs, clawed hands dripping water that ran off the damp fur of the long-haired manes down long powerful arms.

"Make no mistake, you borrow each day of your life with your good behavior. If you betray us or go back on your oath, I will hunt you down and _end_ you. Understood?" The mer who was Dragonborn and Harbinger, and not as soft as the shorter twin made out, leaned over and caught his gaze in the dim light.

"Perfectly, Harbinger."

* * *

"You'll keep first watch with me, whelp," said Farkas as the four of them approached the smoldering remnant of the fire they had built earlier. The big man tugged his trousers on after briefly drying himself off, then shrugged into a dry tunic and cloak.

The "whelp" hunched down near the fire and fed in several sticks, blowing strongly onto the dull coals until it flared back to life. The rain had slackened off, though the wind continued to scream around them.

Laure and Vilkas dried off in the privacy of the tent, then called out to Farkas, "Wake us when you're ready to sleep." Farkas grunted his acknowledgment and settled down, ready to keep a close eye on the new "recruit," such as he was.

They were both quiet for a long time, until the red-haired former bandit asked, "May I inquire as to our destination? Will we head back to Jorrvaskr soon?"

"Nope. We're on our way to Solitude on a mission for Jarl Elisif. I'll tell ya, what you did back there earlier was brave, and I respect that. But if you in any way endanger my brother, my Harbinger, or any of the other Companions, or breathe a _whisper_ of what you saw tonight to anyone, you will wish you had simply bled to death instead."

"I gave my oath, and I mean to keep it. I don't intend to give you any further reason to kill me. I very much want to live." Keiran met Farkas' gaze and managed to not flinch away from the piercing gaze the man across the fire leveled his way.

"Good. Just what I want to hear. Back it up with your actions and you'll do fine with us. Where are you from?"

"Markarth. I couldn't find work outside of the mines. I left with grand ideas of dubious origin and found myself homeless, penniless and allied with louts and murderers before I could blink. Or so it seems. Truth be told, a part of me was ready for that life to end."

"Huh, sounds familiar. Look, for the most part the Companions don't give a shit what you did before, once you prove yourself. If we can count on you to have our back in battle and try to conduct yourself with honor, well let's just say we try to keep an open mind about stuff. None of us is perfect, and that isn't really the goal. Once you are a Companion, you are a brother or sister for life. We will have your back, drink you under the table, and carry you home when you can't walk. Your enemies are ours, and we expect the same of you. Don't worry, you seem smart, you'll learn it all quick."

"I'll try not to ahh...disappoint you. All of you. How many whelps are there?"

"You're the only one right now. Means you get all my attention." Farkas grinned across the fire and uncorked a bottle of mead. He downed half the bottle then passed it over. "Welcome to the Companions." Keiran the whelp accepted the bottle with a small smile, privately wondering what he'd blundered into, and finished the bottle, a toast to the new life he was borrowing. For now-he had every intention of earning it back.

"Know how to skin a deer, whelp?" The rough voice of Farkas jerked him back to where he was.

"That I do. I'm even a fair cook, or so I've been told."

"Great. You and me can skin this while my brother and the Harbinger rest a while."

* * *

Laurelin had her leg thrown up over his thighs, her head rested just over his heart. His arm curved around her shoulder and under her elbow, bare fingers traced the curves of her hip while he listened to his brother talk to the new member. Her fingers slowly curling through the hair on his chest let him know she wasn't fully asleep yet. She too was listening.

"Why?" he whispered into her hair.

"Something. He just didn't seem the same as the others. Ask me later when I'm less sleepy," she whispered back. Her fingers stole into his and he felt her relax against him, asleep finally. Vilkas laid awake a while longer, hoping her decision to spare the new whelp outside didn't come back to bite them in the ass. The redhead had given his word and hadn't lied, yet he knew that could change swiftly; the hearts of men were easily swayed by circumstances.

"No more strays," he whispered.

"Mmkay...I'll eat them...pass me a fork?" she muttered in her sleep.

* * *

_Many thanks to everyone who reads, and especially to those who leave me reviews! I'll say again, comments and questions are welcome, I love talking to people about Laurelin, Vilkas, all of them, and often in talking I am inspired and come to better understanding of their characters. As of today, I have over 3500 views for all my stories-OMG that boggles my mind! I don't know how many of you have read it all, but I humbly ask you continue to do so, there is more coming, and I am thinking about re-working a number of the initial chapters of the first book where, I admit, I was in a hurry. Thoughts on this? Cheers! ~Pyreiris~_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten-Wolf Queen**

Solitude perched on the high headland overlooking the harbor in the Sea of Ghosts. A broad spine of stone arched from the bluff to a tall pinnacle of rock, forming a natural bridge that had been paved over, walled and built on. The Blue Palace was constructed upon this enviably defensible position, regally surveying the docks and ships below.

Laurelin, the twins and new recruit Keiran walked into town later the next day. Making straight for the Winking Skeever, they rented rooms and ordered baths and hot food. As soon as they were bathed and fed, Laure gave Farkas a sack of gold and asked him to take the whelp with him while he sold off the loot from the bandit camp and to assure Keiran had adequate armor and weapons. She and Vilkas headed up to the Blue Palace to convene with Falk Firebeard before it got too late. The guards recognized her and Vilkas now and waved them through without halting them. Falk was plainly glad to see them, hurrying over and pulling them aside, a worried frown on his normally smiling face.

"It is well that you have returned. I was hoping the courier would find you quickly. As it turned out, Styrr, our priest of Arkay, believes you halted the summoning ritual, but the Wolf Queen was not actually destroyed; and now Potema makes her bid to return to the realm of the living. Do you know much of her history, Harbinger?"

"Enough to know Potema returned is a catastrophe. How can we help?"

"Styrr claims that your involvement in the disruption of her summoning has created a connection between you somehow. I trust his judgment on this. We have encountered some of her minions and believe she is gathering her forces in the catacombs under the city. You should speak to Styrr; he can give you more information and guidance.

"Anything else you can tell me about Potema would be useful."

"She was ruthless, brilliant and utterly insane. She raised armies of undead during her twenty-year-long war for the Emperor's throne. We're lucky she isn't back in the mortal world completely yet, or we'd all be dead already. What more can I tell you? Be careful, but I'm sure you know this."

"Well then, we will go to the Hall of the Dead and speak with Styrr. Good day, Falk. We'll talk more when we return." Laure turned to leave, Vilkas following a step behind.

"Gods grant it be so, Dragonborn," prayed the steward.

Trotting quickly down the road to the Hall of the Dead, Laurelin and Vilkas didn't speak, both thinking on the dangers they would soon face. They entered the Hall and were greeted by the gray-bearded priest of Arkay. Laure introduced herself and Vilkas, then explained, "Falk Firebeard sent us. We understand you can tell us more about Potema."

"Of course. As you may have surmised, someone was trying to raise and bind the Wolf Queen for some dire experiment. You interrupted the ritual, but Potema Septim has been summoned in spirit form. However, she was not fully raised from the dead; she will require help before she returns to the land of the living. For now, she lurks in a place where the dead eagerly serve her—her old catacombs."

"I see. What is it we need to do?"

"A few days ago some of her minions broke through a wall in the basement of the Temple of the Divines. She will undoubtedly have vampires and undead serving her; they must be destroyed. She herself has no corporeal body, but you will need to defeat her spirit manifestation before she obtains one. Of course, if you find any of her physical remains in the crypts, then I ask you bring them to me. If I can bless them and perform the proper rituals, we should be able to avoid further recurrences."

"How can we access the catacombs, from here in the Hall?"

"Oh no, there is an entrance downstairs in the Temple of the Divines. Take this key; it will open the gates to the catacombs. From there, I can offer little further information, but if you have any craft in magic, I have a spell tome that might be useful."

Laure nodded and accepted the key and the book. "My thanks; I will study this tonight. We will get an early start tomorrow unless you think we should leave immediately. It was a long journey from Whiterun."

"A fresh start is always a good idea. Blessings on you, Dragonborn, and to you, Vilkas of the Companions."

A short time later, Laure and Vilkas found Farkas and Keiran in the common room of the Winking Skeever, tucking into another hot meal. The two latecomers pulled up a chair and ordered drinks.

"How did it go? Are we all doomed?" Farkas inquired around a mouthful of apple and cabbage stew.

"Not yet, we aren't. It went well, but we'll talk later when we have a bit more privacy. Now, what's on the menu?" Laure glanced into Farkas' bowl and cringed. "Surely we can afford to eat something other than that slop..." Vilkas pinched her bum and she threw a mildly threatening glance over her shoulder. "What? It looks like it should go to the goats. That can't taste good, can it?" Keiran shook his head slightly but kept his eyes down and continued spooning the soup into his mouth at a steady pace. Farkas offered her a spoonful with a wicked grin on his handsome face, but Laure leaned away, shaking her head.

"You won't know if it's good or not until you try it, love. Just taste some," urged Vilkas with a smile to match his brothers.

"Nope, sorry. It smells like boiled socks. I'll order something else." She made her way to the bar and sweet-talked the innkeeper, Corpulus, into a plate of fresh salmon, a few eggs, and some soft goat cheese. Making her way back to the table, she quelled her rising nervousness and anticipation over the upcoming battle. Come what may, she was loving the idea of taking on the Wolf Queen herself—or rather her incorporeal spirit manifestation. However it was with the undead former queen of Solitude, Potema would be a worthy challenge.

A quick glance around the table showed matching excitement from the twins, but Keiran was still understandably nervous. "Don't worry, whelp. Listen to directions, and you should make it through this alive. I'll explain what we're up against in a while, but for now, we relax and don't think about anything but good food and company. Even if it's only for a short while." She and Vilkas settled into their now-customary arrangement of her sprawled or perched in some way on his lap while they fed each other bits of food, poked, prodded, kissed and harassed each other to distraction. Farkas did everything he could to goad them both on.

Keiran watched quietly, not sure what to make of the Companions at all, certain that in spite of her assurances, they were going to die horribly sometime tomorrow. Then he had a sudden flash of two nights prior, the secret these three had allowed him to share. Were they going to turn him as well? _Shit, and knee deep in it_, he thought.

The Harbinger, leaning comfortably back in her lover's arms, accepted another mug from Farkas and tipped back the last few drops in her old one. Vilkas and his brother were chatting quietly now, having spent the earlier part of the evening telling stories about the Companions. Keiran felt eyes on him and met the chilly gaze of the Dragonborn. She quirked a smile his way and crossed her legs.

"So whelp, how many years were you a bandit?" she wanted to know.

He thought back a moment, then quietly answered, "Four years now. I left the mines when I was twenty-six."

"So do you have a family somewhere that is missing you?"

"You could say that, I suppose. My ma, she's still in Markarth. She's a seamstress. Da disappeared years ago in the war. Never had any brothers or sisters; Ma never could remarry."

"Were you lonely without much family?" Laure wanted to know.

"Never knew any other way to be. I was always busy anyway, running errands for Ma, helping her with washing and cooking. Whatever it took to put food on the table." He drained his mug and set it down. Farkas edged a full one over the table.

"Drink up, new blood. You know, Vilkas and me grew up without our parents too. It ain't easy wondering if they're going to come walking back into our lives someday. We were told they were killed, but no one really knew for sure. But we were raised by the best man I ever knew, so I guess that makes up for it, eh?" Farkas raised his mug and shouted, "For Kodlak!"

Laure and Vilkas lifted theirs as well, calling out, "Kodlak!" Keiran boldly followed, even though he had no idea who this Kodlak was. When three werewolves sitting at his table wanted to toast someone, Keiran drank.

They toasted Kodlak a few more times, as well as another man named Skjor, Ysgramor, and Ysmir-which had the twins giggling into their sleeves when they saw the hard stares the Harbinger was giving them.

Keiran had to ask finally, "What is so funny? Why does she look like we're on the menu?"

Vilkas leaned around his mate and whispered loudly, "She's the Dragonborn. The Greybeards claim she's Ysmir reborn. We like to tease her about growing a beard so we can swear by it like we used to."

Keiran's eyes flew to Laurelin, who winked and ran her fingers through an imaginary beard. _They're insane_ was his last coherent thought for a while.

Nearly stumbling up the stairs, Keiran followed Farkas into the Harbinger and Vilkas' room. It had been an eternity it seemed since he had last been this warm, well dressed, well fed and pleasantly drunk. Now it seemed he was to get a few more answers.

They all grabbed seats or, in Farkas' case, sprawled on the cool, stone floor. Laurelin cleared her throat and began, "We are going under Solitude to the catacombs. We can expect some powerful undead minions-vampires, draugr and the like. What is more, these undead serve and are trying to resurrect Queen Potema from the dead. Falk Firebeard of the Blue Palace had Vilkas and me go into a cave not too long ago to take out some necromancers, and we disrupted a ritual that was supposed to bind her spirit. She wasn't bound, but neither was she destroyed or dismissed. She is now making a bid to re-enter the world of the living. Needless to say, she must be stopped. Everything I've read indicates that she was quite deranged before she died; I doubt things have improved much in the last few centuries. Questions?"

Vilkas and Farkas both shrugged and kept quiet. Keiran couldn't believe how casually they were all taking this, but she was the Dragonborn, and they were Companions, powerful warriors all.

"Are we talking hordes of undead here, or just a few? And is it just the four of us going down there?" he finally asked.

"Somewhere in between would be my guess. She hasn't been back on this plane for long, but she seems to be moving quickly. And yes, just the four of us. Too big a party is cumbersome in the tunnels and crypts. Most of the filth we'll encounter have little intelligence left to them and are easy to destroy. Which reminds me, I have this book I need to study. Being able to turn undead could be useful. Oh, don't scowl at me, Vilkas. Some magic is good. Did Farkas see to your gear and weapons, whelp?"

Keiran nodded and smiled, indicating his new sword and boots. "The rest is in the room I share with tall, dark and passed out on your floor, there." His gaze dipped down to where Farkas had an arm thrown over his eyes and seemed to be dozing.

"Mm'not passed out, whelp. I could take you laying down if I wanted to. Wait, that sounded wrong. Never mind; I'm awake." He pushed himself up and sauntered out the door, giving Keiran a meaningful glance. "C'mon, early start tomorrow, and I'm sure the lovebirds over there want some quality time alone." The tall, redheaded newblood followed Farkas out the door, nodding to the two remaining in the room.

In the room they shared, he asked Farkas, "Are they always so, ah..."

"Attached lip and hip, yeah. Get used to it. Don't let them as they are when they're relaxing fool you, though; none of us messes around in a fight." They both dropped onto their beds and tugged off boots, hung scabbards up over the posts of the beds, then lay back on soft cushions. Keiran's breathing evened out quickly, soft snores almost drowning out the muffled moans of Vilkas and Laurelin that later reached Farkas' sharp ears.

Now he finally understood a little more Vilkas' earlier frustration when Laure had been new to the Companions and spending a good deal of time in _his_ room, in his arms. Nothing for it though; his brother was happy, and so was she. Oblivion could swallow him up before he would interfere.

* * *

The sky wasn't even light yet, and she wasn't ready to pull herself from bed. She mumbled and reached for Vilkas' arm, pulling it closer around her, bumping back against his chest. Farkas' gravelly voice sounded right over her again, gently prodding her awake.

"Laure, wake up. It's almost dawn, we should get moving, yeah?"

"No, not ready yet, another hour, sweetheart. We'll go sledding later."

"Laure, it's me, Farkas. Wake up." He reached over and pushed the hair off her forehead, ran a blunt fingertip over the angle of her jaw and up to tug lightly at her earlobe. She smiled and blinked slowly, finally stirring.

"Morning, you sexy beast. Are you sure it's time to get up?" She nuzzled his hand affectionately.

"Sadly it is. I know how much old ladies need their beauty sleep..."

"Oh you're making old lady jokes now too? All right, young cub, I want two eggs scrambled, seared slaughterfish and fresh chicken livers. Hop to it, boy." Laure stretched then flipped over and burrowed her face into Vilkas' bare chest. Farkas chuckled quietly and admired the fine view of her naked behind that was exposed when she shifted in the furs.

"Well, I guess from this point of view you look young enough. So, seriously it's time to get up. I can go order breakfast if you really want all that crap though. Vilkas, you want something?"

"Porridge and eggs sound good. We'll be down soon." Vilkas waved as his brother left their room. His large hand reached around Laure and slapped her arse. "Wake up, lazy. Last one with their boots on buys breakfast." He flipped himself over her and grabbed his trousers and tunic, scrambling into them. He tugged his tunic over his head and saw his mate still laying on the bed, completely naked but for her boots, buckles hanging loosely.

"You're awfully slow for a young guy, love. So about breakfast..." Her suggestive wicked smile was infuriating and intoxicating as well.

"You are way too old and wise to be such a cheater, darling...that's not what I meant-" he swallowed thickly as she ran a long finger over the curve of her hip.

"Wish you'd thought to put your boots on first?"

"Aye—how did you do that? I didn't even hear you move." He grinned, knowing very well how. He had watched her stalk prey countless times now, and she was far and away the stealthiest person he had ever met.

"I'm the sneaky type, you know."

"I'm hardly likely to forget. Since you cheated we should split breakfast."

"Tell you what, I'll buy. It will be worth the memory of the expression on your face. Priceless!" she laughed, then shook her boots off and rolled from the bed. "I think it's going to be a great day to send an undead lunatic back to her final rest, aye?"

"It's always a good day for such." They were pulling clothes and armor on as they chatted, an activity that sometimes had a few setbacks when they started undressing each other rather than pulling more on. Still, a quarter hour after Farkas had first roused them, they finally made it downstairs, flushed and smiling but dressed and ready to get started.

Keiran and Farkas were sitting at a large table laden with a variety of dishes, sampling several things at once. Laure and Vilkas set themselves down and started piling their platters, eating quickly. Between the four of them, there were few leftovers when they were done. They grabbed gear packed earlier and headed out the front door and up toward Castle Dour's crenelated walls.

Tucked into a corner of the castle was the Temple of the Divines, where one could go and pray to any of the eight accepted gods. Laurelin didn't have much use for religion, but she had been known to say the occasional prayer, and the empty shrine to Talos in the middle of the elaborately decorated niches bothered her. If people wanted to worship a worn boot with no laces, then that should be their choice. But that wasn't why she was here. A helpful priest directed them downstairs, where they found a locked gate barring their way. Laure opened it, ushered them all through, then re-locked it behind them. The priest waved from the other side of the bars.

"Divines bless you all, and guide your blades." His hands raised, the man prayed until the four were out of sight, then returned to his regular duties. Privately, he prayed they wouldn't be back as shambling undead, groaning and shrieking at the gates.

* * *

They crept through the broken wall down a few rough stairs, then followed a roughly hewn tunnel, weapons drawn, or in Laurelin's case, arrow notched. She paused in front, throwing a warning glance over her shoulder. Vilkas heard her whisper something in another tongue and she froze, panning her gaze around. He'd seen her use this Shout once before and knew it revealed life energies to her. She crept closer to the three men, breathing out, "There are some right around the corner. I'll take the ones I can get with the bow; when I fall back, you guys flank whoever is left if you can and take them out quickly. Keiran, keep your distance from the vamps, we don't need you turning into one on us."

"You're not worried about getting turned?"

"Our beast blood protects us from the taint. Just pay attention and don't try to be a hero."

"Sure, Harbinger. I follow your lead." They slipped around the corner, coming face to face with a barred passage and a relief carving of the Wolf Queen. As they approached the bars, a resonant feminine voice spoke out of the empty air.

"_You've arrived at last. The heroine who prevented me from being bound returns to my fold. I have much to thank you for, little one. When you die, I will raise you and you can take your place by my side_." Abruptly, the bars slid down into the floor and opened the way forward.

They were all jumpy as it was and swore quietly while the spirit addressed Laure. The hair on the nape of her neck stood on end, though she defiantly muttered, "I hardly think it likely, though you might try." She edged onward and shot the first draugr, sending it flying further into the chamber. Vilkas and Farkas swarmed forward and sliced it to bits in a few seconds.

Without hesitation they turned and cut into a fledgling vampire, who tried to use magic on them and learned quickly it was best to not. Farkas was caught in the pale lightning forking from her hands, but while she was busy electrocuting one, the other leaped forward and broke her neck with a powerful strike, then kicked her to the ground and ran his sword through her heart.

Farkas crashed to the floor for a moment and then bounded right back up, striding over to kick the pile of ash apart furiously. "Fucking hurt, but now who's laughing?"

"You all right, brother?"

"Fine, I just don't like how the lightning locks everything up, can't breathe, heart stops. It's not natural. Lets get moving, huh?"

Keiran mostly let the three sweep the tunnels and caves, realizing that he would be in the way more often than not. He did observe closely, seeing the dynamic style this trio of fighters had. They never lost sight of each other and seemed to have worked out a shortened battle language that let the others know positions of enemies, numbers, forthcoming attacks and any number of details. That was fine, except the language seemed to be comprised of whistles, yips, raised eyebrows and epithets. The newblood couldn't quite wrap his head around the strangest group of people he had met. He did find several opportunities to help out when the numbers of enemies became overwhelming, his blade destroying several draugr and one floundering vampire that tried to sneak up on Vilkas after the man had swept by.

They fought their way through catacombs, puzzle doors that rotated heavy plates of stone, huge numbers of the undead, and fire traps powered by soul gems. Periodically, the voice of Potema would croon out threats and promises, always accompanied by a new horde of undead minions. Before long they began to tire, and Vilkas suggested they fall back a bit and take a short rest. They found a likely spot that they were able to use a few minutes back the way they had come, and they settled to the dusty floor to patch up wounds, drink water and eat a bite or two.

Laure went around healing everyone, including herself, before resting. Sitting down finally, she rested her back up against her mate's. His warmth radiated into her body and took away the chill of the stones, the unnatural cold of animated dead. "Wouldn't it be fun to take out the Wolf Queen in our wolf shapes?" wondered Laure, smiling at Farkas not far away. His answering grin was almost frightening as he glanced up from under his dark, heavy brows, teeth white and sharp looking in the flickering light.

"As entertaining as that might be, we should probably try to keep our heads on straight," Vilkas replied. "We don't know how many more of her minions we face. I'd like for all of us to make it out of here alive." His fingers slipped over his shoulder to stroke the back of her head, and she leaned back into his touch.

Farkas shrugged; he didn't usually argue with his brother when it came to tactics. Keiran was relieved; he had no desire to be trapped underground with three bloodthirsty werewolves, no matter that they were on his side. He figured his chances of survival were nothing if even one of them lost control for so much as a heartbeat.

Finally, they pushed themselves up, to get away from the bone-chilling cold of the stones as much as to finish the job. Laure carried Dawnbreaker unsheathed, appreciative of the warm light the sword radiated from its circular crossguard. Far and away her favorite new weapon, the token of Meridia had proven to be a mighty asset as she battled the undead of Skyrim's crypts and barrows. Destroying necromancers and any form of animated dead had become a bit of a hobby. Things that grossly disturbed or violated the natural order of the Cycle of Life bothered Laure to such a degree that she found herself almost as compelled to fight them as dragons. Or perhaps, some of her compulsion to take down the resurrected dragons was because they should have remained in their graves.

Her deepest belief was that the energy of life is meant to exist for a while, then to move on, to share experiences and knowledge, loves and griefs with a vast pool of previous beings, that pool being what spawned the next generations. To fear death was to fear progress, and to seek to alter the natural course was to also deny the beauty of experience for what it was. It was also robbing all the future beings of the richness that could be shared but was denied by those who dabbled in necromancy. She couldn't understand the greed for power, nor the fear of what comes after.

She didn't want to die, but she accepted it could come any day, at any hour. Fight it though she might, the truth was she didn't know when she would face a foe who could destroy her. All she could do was take reasonable precautions, pray for guidance, and hone her skills to the highest degree she could. Nothing less, nothing more.

There were also the Companions, who had accepted her into their ranks and made her feel welcome. Her faith in her shield-siblings was unshakable, knowing they had her back as much as she had theirs was a comfort in these uncertain times. She glanced over her shoulder at her mate and dearest friend. His pale eyes were bright in the dimness, full of determination and eagerness.

Quelling the growls of her wolf spirit that rose when she looked upon her mate like that, she turned back to the hallway. Barred doorways were now open and they strode forward, no longer skulking but openly hunting.

Potema's voice echoed around them again, "_You've come far, mortals, but can you stand against my inner council? Let's see_!" Shining through the next doorway was a familiar blue and lavender swirl of energy. Tendrils of it were spiraling around the room, some leaping across sarcophagi, awakening the occupants, other beams crackling with electricity.

"Keiran, this is where it gets messy. Stay back in this passageway and drink this potion; it will protect you from shock damage for a while. The draugr with the horned helms can usually Shout, but they aren't the only ones who can. If they so much as open their mouths, you need to take cover. Or get down low; they like to knock you around if they can. Questions?" The newest recruit shook his head and shrugged. "Good. Farkas and my love, you know what you do best. May the gods watch over our battles," a prayer that was echoed by the three men.

She quickly kissed Vilkas, and then all four of them spread out, waiting for the first half dozen draugr to push their way through the doorway. The first handful went down easily to the keen blades of the Companions, but there were already more shuffling closer.

Several of the draugr they had already cut down were struggling to their feet again as the tendrils of energy suspended in the next room licked over the corpses again. "Getting crowded in here Laure. Back up or move in?" Farkas wanted to know.

Laure sliced his opponent once then twirled away. "We should move in before we can't get past the door. Mind the electricity; it seems to travel around the room." She cleared the doorway with her own Shout of "**Fus Ro...Dah**!" sending several weaker draugr flying back across the large room to smash into the far walls. More were shoving out of sarcophagi, though, and finding their way over the uneven floor while the swirling energy trailed over the stones.

The Companions rushed into the large crypt, slashing with blades, trying to take out as many foes as possible before the streams of shock energy completed the rotation about the room. Laure glanced around, and a quick estimate had over a dozen draugr up and bearing down on the four of them. As soon as none of her friends were in the way, she set a large cluster of enemies on fire with a Shout, "**Yol Toor**!" Then she danced through the smoldering undead still standing, cutting with Dawnbreaker.

Laure and Vilkas took the center of the room, battling an even half dozen undead, but looked to be handling it. Keiran danced around a fallen pillar, taunting the draugr that tried to hack him down with a black-bladed ax. The loud ringing of another draugr falling to Dawnbreaker filled the room, a purple disc of energy expanded outward, and several of the remaining undead fell, the evil enchantments keeping them mobile shattered forever, including the one Keiran fought.

Potema screamed in wordless fury, then ordered, "_Rip their eyes from their heads. Make them suffer for defying my will_!" The swirl of lightning picked up the pace, but it struck her own minions as often as the Companions. Although the spell was powerful, and painful when caught in it, Potema didn't seem capable of directing it. Taking the shocks with the regular blows and Shouts of the draugr, the four of them whittled down the Wolf Queen's minions over the next few moments.

Finally the last one fell, and no more rose to challenge them again. Laure glanced around. Everyone was scorched, bleeding from any number of wounds, hair on end from the charged air of the room. The hovering spirit retreated from the room to a smaller chamber beyond, taking much of the light as it fled.

Laure quickly went around healing her shield-siblings before asking, "Ready to finish this, darlings?"

"Let's get moving," Vilkas replied. "Who knows what other foul sorcery she's cooking up in there?" Farkas shrugged and nodded. Keiran tightened a gauntlet and nodded. They swarmed up the short flight of stairs to the arch Potema had disappeared through. Pushing their way into the small room, they were confronted by the translucent form of Potema. Her spirit had a skeletal aspect, though it wore fine looking robes. She was seated on a throne, see-through skeletal fingers curved around the arm rests, a leer on her bony face, and an ethereal crown on her head. Across her knees rested a dark sword, unsheathed and solid.

None of them wasted words, all four Companions spreading out to encircle her, swords raised and on guard. The spirit stood, raising her blade in a salute, then suddenly the small room was uncomfortably crowded as she summoned a frost atronach with a mad cackle.

The atronach began swinging its jagged arms around, driving Laure and Farkas up against a wall, while Vilkas and Keiran engaged Potema, who had helpfully raised another few draugr as well. Lightning flickered out of the Wolf Queen's fingers, raking across everyone in the room, while her insane taunts rose in volume.

Dawnbreaker didn't do much extra damage to the frost atronach, but Farkas seemed to be holding his own for a moment, so Laure took an instant to summon her own flame atronach and let the two elemental beings sort it out, freeing Farkas and herself to engage Potema. Running a freshly raised draugr through with her glowing sword, Laure chuckled as it exploded and turned to ash, the magic racing out to overcome the other two undead, who were pushing into Keiran's and Vilkas' flanks, while Potema lashed them all with lightning.

Farkas, pissed by the lightning and ready to be done with the stench of the place, leaped in, only to be knocked aside by the massive arm of Potema's atronach. Vilkas appeared in front of his brother, blocking a powerful downward chop that would have impaled Farkas, his arms straining to absorb then deflect the blow.

Bolts of fire slammed into the giant, walking slab of ice, causing the faceless point of its head to shift. Vilkas roared in fury and heaved the glittering sharp arm of the frost creature aside, then used his momentum to pivot behind it and carve out chip after chip from its rear. The bigger Nord rolled to his feet, bringing his sword up, and he and Vilkas circled it, chopping and hacking, using the confusion to keep it guessing.

Laure and Keiran were trying to flank Potema's spirit, but the crafty woman seemed capable of avoiding almost any strike by Dawnbreaker. She had already absorbed several blows from Keiran's sword and didn't seem bothered much, but she danced away from Laure's undead scourge frantically.

Keiran ran her through again and got shocked for his trouble. The redhead dropped to one knee, chest spasming, and Laure could tell he couldn't draw breath. Potema moved forward, unable to ignore the apparent weakness of the man shaking in front of her. The ghostly woman slipped forward and swung her blade, intending to end another nuisance, but Keiran managed to drop and roll away from the strike, parrying weakly.

A strangled gurgle came instead of the expected pain of being stabbed. Keiran focused on the sight in front of him and saw the bright light of Dawnbreaker eating away at the apparition of Potema's midriff. Through the wavering outline, he could make out the wicked smile on his Harbinger's face as she twisted her sword, wringing a howl of agony from the Wolf Queen. Suddenly the spirit lost its form, becoming an amorphous mist which swirled around a skull sitting on the throne, settling into the bone with a quiet hiss.

The frost atronach was dispelled, leaving a chilly mist behind. The twins glanced about, weapons still up. Laure was edging up to the throne when a loud laugh rang out and the ghostly remains of Potema burst out of the skull once more.

"Fuck me sideways, this bitch is getting on my nerves!" Laure gasped as she dodged aside. Her flame atronach fired a few more bolts then expired in a brief explosion. She contemplated summoning another but was busy dodging the Wolf Queen's furious assault. Potema was entirely focused on Laurelin, so the three men flanked the ghost, taking carefully timed swipes, whittling her down while her attention was on the mer.

Their attacks were slowly weakening her, they could see this much; but Laure was hard pressed now, the insane ghost attacking with every trick she had. With her three shield-siblings so close, Laure couldn't comfortably use most of her Shouts, but a Word she had only recently acquired hummed in her mind, the souls of the dragons she had consumed whispering advice._ That might do the trick_...

She took a breath and her Thu'um filled the room again, a single word, "**Su**!" Laure felt her muscles suffused with an intense amount of energy and strength and felt quick as the lightning Potema had lashed them all with. Knowing this would be a short-lived boost, Laure slashed out with her sword, driving the warm light through Potema's chest, then pulled back, bashing several times with her shield. The specter turned as if to flee but came face to face with the other three Companions. Using the last bit of speed from her Shout, Laure ran her blade through Potema twice more, and with a cry, the Wolf Queen's spirit exploded, then dissipated in the slight breeze it created.

Laure bounded over to the throne and poised her sword over the skull, which had a crown identical to the one Potema's ghost had worn. "Highness, it was lovely to meet you finally, but we really must be going, I'm sure you understand. Now, we have a priest of Arkay who would love to make your acquaintance as well." She was sure she must look like a lunatic, bent over, face red from exertion, mocking a skull wearing a crown, but she didn't care. "How are the rest of you? Should we get patched up and get out of this Void-cursed crypt?" Her eyes roamed over her companions, taking in the frazzled expressions, scrapes, cuts, and frostbite. Her lover was checking a cut on his twin's head, and Farkas was muttering about it being "just a scratch," while Keiran seemed reluctant to believe they were all still alive and breathing. Laure wrapped the skull in a bundle of linen wraps she found, then tucked it into her knapsack.

"Who wants to help me loot these bodies?" she wanted to know, a smile widening on her face. Farkas' hand shot up and nearly poked Vilkas in the eye.

"Sorry 'bout that, Vilkas. But I want to help when you're done." Shaking his head, the shorter twin rolled his eyes and playfully shoved his brother's head away.

"You're fine; a sip of a healing potion and you'll be as well in the head as you've ever been." They began looting, sifting through pockets, chests, desks, pouches, and shelves. Once pooled, they had raked in over a thousand pieces of gold, several valuable pieces of jewelry, assorted loose gems, and a pile of weapons and armor that could be sold for a tidy sum. They bundled the loot up and divided it out for carrying, then made their way up through a tunnel that exited Potema's inner sanctum, fighting a few more draugr on the way out. Nothing the Companions couldn't handle. Toiling up the long slope, several staircases and another broken network of caves and tunnels, they emerged high up the mountain side, overlooking the Sea of Ghosts.

Gray mist pooled below, softening the shapes of trees and stone, but the light of day was chasing away the stars and brightening color by the heartbeat. Keiran looked out at the dawn and let out a huge sigh. "That is something I wasn't sure we would all see again."

"That was a walk in the park. You did pretty good in there, though, whelp. Glad you made it," Farkas rumbled as he came out of the tunnel behind the redhead. The two men took deep breaths of fresh air while Laure and Vilkas were slowly walking up the last incline, hand in hand while they talked softly about something. Vilkas glanced up and met his brother's eyes and smiled but kept talking. Laure was listening and nodding, eyes on the rough path underfoot. "Better catch up you two, missing the best part." He leaned back against the rough stone of the mountainside, legs crossed, watching the undersides of dark clouds being washed with warm radiance.

Laure and Vilkas scrambled up more quickly and sat down on the cramped ledge, quiet now. All four had their own thoughts, but they stopped to watch the sunrise usher in another day. Another day of life, conflict, joys and lessons. None of that mattered so very much at this moment. After an entire day of being in darkness, surrounded by the stench and filth of the undead, it was a moment to reflect and to appreciate that each day offered something new.

The twins and Laure enjoyed knowing they had stopped a terrible evil from returning to Skyrim and had defeated scores of abominations. Every one they destroyed was one somebody else didn't have to battle. It was a job well done all around, one they all felt brought honor to the name of the Companions.

Keiran was revising. These three had a zest for battle, food, stories and life in general unmatched by any of his former friends. If one could call his band of highwaymen "friends." Farkas hadn't been joking around when he said they had each others backs. He still wasn't sure he liked the idea of becoming a werewolf, but he couldn't argue that they took care of each other and wanted to include him. _Shield-brother_. It had a nice ring to it.

Farkas and Laurelin both let out soft, "Oh's!" as the brilliant disc of the sun finally cleared the trees and hillsides, dispelling the last of the shadows on the ledge with nearly blinding gold and rose hued light. She leaned over and kissed the big man's scruffy cheek, drawing another smile from him. The sun rose higher, chasing long shadows across the hills, and even the gray swells of the Sea of Ghosts sparkled once the fog rolled back.

After a few more moments of quiet appreciation, they decided to head back to Solitude, more than ready to eat, drink, bathe and sleep. The only argument was about which to do first. Good-natured banter accompanied them down the long hillside to the road and all the way back up to the city.

* * *

_Sorry, lovely readers for the delay in posting this chapter. I hope you enjoy! As always, please comment, feel free to ask questions, and don't forget to follow/fave! Cheers, ~PyreIris_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven -Mending What Was Broken**

Farkas, Laure, and Vilkas sat at the Winking Skeever with the Keiran, picking over the remnants of a fine meal. They relaxed near a roaring fire, looking forward to soft beds after more bottles of mead and warm baths.

Laurelin was sprawled comfortably on Vilkas' lap, her legs thrown up over Farkas' knees, and his giant hands rubbed and kneaded her calves free of knots. A lovely bard was singing with a pure, soaring voice in a nook nearby. Three pairs of eyebrows shoot up incredulously as the bard began a haunting tune.

_Our Hero, our Hero claims a warrior's heart_

_I tell you, I tell you the Dragonborn comes..._

Vilkas and Farkas roar with laughter, while Keiran glanced around confused, not understanding the mirth. Laurelin scowled and shifted on her mate's lap, not as amused as the others. The tops of her high cheeks were flushed pink as she thumped Farkas' chest with her boot and sank her fingernails warningly into Vilkas' thighs, but her warnings were ignored. Farkas hummed along, while Keiran shot Laure a helpless look, and his expression tickled her enough that she couldn't contain herself any longer. She shook her head and her melodic laugh rang out. It was pretty damn funny after all. People might spit on her because of her pointy ears, but they loved to sing that damned song.

Nudging Vilkas with her elbow, she asked in a low voice, "So, you going to tell them your news?"

"You first, love."

"Fine. Hey guys, we have some great news for you!" Farkas and Keiran looked up, unspoken questions forming on their lips. "The Jarl of Solitude wants to make Vilkas a Thane!" Vilkas was scowling at her, although the corners of his lips were twitching up slightly.

"That wasn't what I meant, and you know it. For your information, our esteemed Harbinger here is also to be made a Thane of Solitude. She has other big news for you though. Tell them love."

Farkas jumped up with a huge grin on his face. "That's wonderful Laure! I'm so happy for you two! Don't worry, I can do extra jobs so you can sit back and relax more and get plenty of rest!"

Laure and Vilkas both had perplexed looks, eyebrows arched, chewing lips, trying to sort out what on Nirn the big twin was going on about. As they were all quite drunk; it took a moment. Finally, she blinked and chuckled.

"Uh, Farkas, I'm not with child..."

"Oh...wow. Uh. Wow. Sorry Laure. Got a little excited there. I just thought, you know. Big news—boy, do I feel like a giant's ass right now." He sat down again, reaching for her legs which he had dropped unceremoniously in his excitement.

"You guys want to _see_ my big news?" When the boys nodded, she slipped off her mate's lap and headed for the door. "Grab your bags, we have to walk a little way." Before long, they were standing in the street, looking up at a tall stone mansion. Laure walked a small iron key across the back of her fingers, then skipped up the front steps and fitted it into the lock. Turning back to the three men, she had a huge smile of satisfaction on her face.

"Welcome to Proudspire Manor. As of today, Elisif has sold it to Vilkas and me in thanks for our services to the hold. Well, stopping Potema, and the twenty-five thousand gold probably didn't hurt. Come in. We'll need to furnish it still, but that will happen in time." The house was dusty and only a few barrels and empty crates lurked in the corners, but the pale stonework and craftsmanship were still evident.

"Nice place, you two. Does this mean you're both moving to Solitude now?"  
"No, but it does mean we'll have a place of our own when we're in town now. The Winking Skeever is a great inn, but once this place is fixed up, it will be a fantastic home away from home, aye?"

Farkas agreed and wanted to camp out in the new place, even though there was no furniture. So they explored a bit around the house, made a roaring fire out of broken barrels and crates, and made their beds up on the floor.

Laying back, they passed several celebratory bottles of wine around, recounting old adventures and the battle of the day before. Sleepiness claimed them one by one, until only Vilkas was still awake.

Farkas was a giant's ass sometimes, but he meant well. Months back, Laurelin and himself had addressed the topic of her possibly becoming pregnant. After all, they made love whenever possible and from the beginning hadn't put much thought into precautions against it. She had somewhat sadly informed him she felt she was passed her child-bearing years. At the time, he had shrugged and thought little of it. What had seemed a convenience then now seemed a little more disappointing. Children had always been a far distant concept-before her. Now a part of him was slowly growing to hope that someday they might. He finally fell asleep, thoughts and possibilities milling slowly in his mind. Perhaps someday soon, when all this other chaos had been resolved.

* * *

"We never should have stopped in Roriksted." Vilkas muttered in her ear as they approached the Whiterun stables. His arms were wrapped around her waist as they rode double on his gelding. Farkas was on his giant shire mare a few paces behind.

"I think it's funny, brother. Admit it, this is the most new recruits we've had in years." Farkas jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the two men doubled up on Roast, whose ears were flattened back against her head in protest against the added weight. Keiran was guiding her along, encouraging her with soft talk and strokes to the neck. The newest of the new recruits was behind him, looking up at Whiterun with awe.

Barely out of his teens, Erik of Rorikstead was joining the Companions. He slid off the back of Roast and walked to the stables, avidly taking everything in. Once everything had been unloaded, they headed up into the city. After a quick stop at Breezehome, the five of them made their way through the market and up to Jorrvaskr.

Proudspire might be an impressive and beautiful house, but Jorrvaskr had a presence and warmth. Stepping in always felt like coming home should. Vilkas pulled the door open for Laurelin, and immediately the sound of Athis and Njada arguing greeted them. "So good to be back," she muttered.

"Some things will never change," remarked her mate, glancing inside. "Well, maybe _that's_ different!"

Njada was wrapped up in Torvar's arms, her face swollen and red. Torvar looked sober in every aspect. Athis was leaning over the back of a chair, his fingers biting hard into the wood.

"Look, my only complaint is the noise. Can't you two just go rent a room or find a bush to rut in?" Njada opened her mouth to retort, her face twisting up in fury, but before she could respond she was interrupted.

"Well! It's so good to come back and find everyone getting along so nicely!" Laurelin called out as she stepped forward. Vilkas and Farkas flanked her left and right, while the new whelps hung back in the shadows, trying to make their large frames small.

"Harbinger! You're back! He is being the most insufferable-"

"Harbinger, allow me to explain-"

"My favorite drinking buddy-wait..."

"Enough!" roared Farkas, hands curled into giant fists on his hips. He glared with heavy brows lowered, down at the three bickering shield-siblings. His raised voiced silenced the room in an instant; the big man rarely yelled at them like that.

Laure came down the steps and took a seat. "Can any of you tell us what is going on here? One at a time. Njada, you start. Any interruptions from the others will earn you each an extra hour of workout time."

"Well it started a few weeks ago. With Torvar being less of a disgusting slob, he's become, well, more likeable. We ended up in the furs right after you left. Athis is being a jealous prat and saying we make too much noise, won't stop making stupid jokes." She shot a warning glare toward Athis, who had opened his mouth to retort, but he snapped his teeth together and ground them instead.

"Is that all?"

"No! I swear it's as if he wants to catch us at it; he walks in every time we so much as kiss."

"Athis, what do you have to say about this?"

"First, allow me to say I am not jealous of their disgusting copulations. They are welcome to each other. My complaint is with the manner they go about it, practically in public. All day they grope at each other, swapping spit at fantastic volume. Frankly I find it appalling. Furthermore-"

"That should be enough, Athis. Thank you. Now, Torvar?"

Torvar glanced around the room, blushing slightly. "I guess we been a little, ah, enthusiastic the last few days, but we ain't doing it out in public. He caught us up here last night, and well, we all sleep in the same two rooms, so if things get loud-" Athis ground his teeth tighter, literally biting back a scathing comment. Torvar continued, "if things get loud, I'm sorry. It's just, this is the first time in a very long time a woman has been interested in me for me. Not 'cause I'm buying the next round. It feels nice." Torvar looked away sheepishly as he admitted that.

Laure and Vilkas glanced at each other and smiled. They understood what Torvar was feeling and were sympathetic.

"Look, I think we may be able to come up with a solution to this little dilemma," said Laure. "The Circle will talk a few things over and get back to you soon. In the meantime, this is ridiculous. We have real fights and jobs to do. Let's focus on that. In that regard, I would like to introduce the two newest recruits to the Companions. Keiran of Markarth and Erik of Rorikstead. Whelps, these three are Njada, Athis and Torvar; the rest of them are probably laying low right now. Welcome to Jorrvaskr."

* * *

Later that afternoon, the Circle called everyone down to the Harbinger's study. With all of them in the room it was cramped. Wanting to make this next part quick, Laure hopped up on a chair and called out, "There will a few new arrangements. First off, please welcome the newest member of the Circle." She patted Athis on the shoulder, and he managed to look smug and stunned at the same time.

"What? That is completely unfair!" shouted Njada belligerently.

Aela quietly told her to "Shut up and listen." Arms folded, sour expression on her face, Njada listened.

"Athis has been here long enough to know what is expected. He has earned our trust and proved himself in battle. In addition, he has valuable skills to share with the group. He has agreed to work on tempering his remarks and judgments, those that come across and mean-spirited or tactless. Athis will be moving into Skjor's old quarters-"

"Hey!" came a few disbelieving calls before Farkas silenced them again.

"-while Njada and Torvar will have the left-hand room in the whelps' quarters. We can have a door installed so you can have privacy. Does this suit you two?" Torvar and Njada both nodded cautiously.

Ria finally chimed in, "So I have to bunk with the newbloods?" she frowned unhappily. Then she thought about bunking with the two newbloods, both tall and handsome. Biting her lip she mumbled, "I guess I can live with that."

* * *

Another two weeks had passed. Laure sat in Kodlak's study, eyes trained on a letter, but her thoughts drifted. Athis was enjoying his new-found status and had declined Aela's offer of the beast blood. Njada and Torvar were happy with the new sleeping arrangements and the newbloods had settled in nicely.

Vilkas was up in the training yard, working the newest recruits with sword and shield. Mournful, sweet lute music drifted out the open door of Farkas' room. He had been playing more of late, true to his word, and his skill had improved swiftly. He didn't sing often; he was strangely self-conscious when it came to his voice. She wished he would sing more often. Contrary to what Laure might have thought when they first met, he had a remarkably clear singing voice.

_He could have been a bard as easily as a fighter_, she thought to herself, not even pretending to read her letter anymore. Instead she closed her eyes, leaned back, and let the music pull her away for a short time. _Another amazing thing, found while reading letters_.

Vilkas approached her later, a few bundled letters in his hands, a troubled expression on his face. Laure looked up when she caught a familiar scent.

"These just came for you from Riften. I'll give you some privacy if you need it." She knew he had recognized the scent and was probably wrestling with his emotions. Accepting the bundle, she let her fingers linger on his a moment.

"No need love, I don't want to hide anything from you. After I look over these, we should go out for a hunt. I'm feeling restless."

"Aye, sounds like a good idea." He watched while she opened the top letter, scanned through it, and set it aside. Working quickly through the pile she had soon penned replies to most. One she scanned quite closely. "May I ask what those are about?" he finally ventured.

"Most of these are just regular correspondence with a few trading companies I've invested in. This one is from Brynjolf, updating me on things at the Guild, and this one is from my daughter, Aheia back in Valenwood. The last one is the bill of sale for Proudspire. For some reason it was sent to Honeyside. My housecarl in Riften knows to just let Bryn forward my mail."

"It's been a long time since you've heard from him, aye?"

"Months," she admitted quietly. "Most of my messages from Riften have been from Delvin or Vex."

"Do you miss him?"

"Do you really want to know the answer?"

"You don't need to say it. But I think I understand more than you give credit for. He was dear to you, and still is, even though circumstances have shifted. I don't expect you to put away your feelings for him." Vilkas sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it up. Deciding to change the subject, he asked, "Good news from Valenwood I hope?"

"Aye, she writes that my grandson is growing swiftly; he's a year old now. The rest of my family send love and wish the conditions allowed them to travel for a visit, but with war everywhere it seems, they are reluctant to make the journey."

"Perhaps someday we might visit your homeland?" he suggested.

"That would be marvelous! Now, the sun is probably setting soon. Shall we go out for a 'walk,' my love?" They had taken to calling their night-time forays "walks," and most of the Companions were savvy enough to not question much where they went and what they did. So far they had managed to keep Erik in the dark as to their condition, but one never knew when he might discover the truth.

"Let's get going." He waved her through the door and slapped her bum as she passed by.

* * *

Laure and Vilkas were up and about in Breezehome when a knock came at the door. Lydia answered and soon brought a letter upstairs. Vilkas was shaving; Laurelin had just finished putting on her white warpaint.

"Message from Riverwood. Courier said it was urgent." The brunette Nord woman handed over a folded note and sauntered downstairs. Vilkas and Laure stared at the note a moment, then she reluctantly opened it.

_Meet me at the Sleeping Giant inn immediately.  
D._

She handed the short note to Vilkas and began pulling on her boots. He took a few heartbeats to read it, then began pulling on his tunic and armor. They dressed quickly and left, leaving Lydia to run a note up to Jorrvaskr. They decided to leave the horses, Riverwood being only a short jog away.

Before the sun had reached its zenith, the couple were walking into the Sleeping Giant to be greeted by Orgnar and Delphine bickering about whether the ale was bad. Deciding to make this as brief as possible, she followed Vilkas to the bar.

Delphine spotted them and called out, "Good, you're here. Meet me downstairs when you've got your drinks." She disappeared, and Laure and Vilkas could hear her sliding open the hidden panel and clattering downstairs. Moments later they were following, brandies in hand, neither wanting to risk the ale.

Delphine didn't waste time, quickly outlining the plan. Laure and Vilkas listened closely while they sipped their brandy, asking the occasional question. Soon they were finishing their drinks and trotting upstairs. Laure was quiet, which was unusual after any sort of encounter with Delphine.

Vilkas waited until they were well out of Riverwood and jogging downhill before asking, "What are your thoughts love?"

"Hmm, where to start? I still don't entirely trust her. She wants me to break into the Thalmor Embassy to steal any information they have on the return of the dragons. That is nothing new to me, but I have another one of those uneasy feelings in my gut. I guess it just feels as though she's twisting me up in something that I don't need to be involved in. I suspect her strange insistence that the Thalmor are somehow responsible for this mess is delusional. But I have to do this if it offers even a hint of the truth."

"When do we leave?"

"Love, I'm not sure you should get mixed up in all of this. The Companions have remained neutral, so we're relatively free of Thalmor intervention-"

"I can still be seeing to the furnishings and such at the mansion. As Thane, it would be proper to maintain a respectable residence. The embassy is only a few miles from Solitude..."

"Fine. Make sure we don't get shorted on bookshelves. Love, I need to go to Riften for a few days before we do this. There is someone there who can help me with a disguise to infiltrate the embassy. I'll need to leave today."

"Should I meet you in Solitude, or somewhere else?" He knew it would be useless to argue, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

"Go on ahead to Solitude; I'll meet you there in a few days. If it will make you happier, I can take Lydia. I'm sure she's getting restless anyway."

"If you aren't in Solitude within a week, I'm coming looking for you. Stay safe and I'll try not to worry." He softened his words with a smile and they jogged on down the hill.

* * *

Laure slipped through the back door of Honeyside in the wee hours of the morning, stifling a yawn. She and Lydia helped each other out of their armor and fell into the big bed without a word. Hours later, Iona climbed the stairs and found her thane back to back with a stunningly pretty brunette.

_Funny, she usually doesn't go for the dark-haired women. Said they remind her too much of her mother, or sister maybe?_ The housecarl had seen numerous interesting things in her service to Laure. Finding her thane, Brynjolf, and any number of additional people tangled up in her bed come morning was nothing surprising. _Although Bryn mentioned she seemed to have settled down with a Companion. None of my business._

Iona set to making breakfast and heating water. By the time the other two women were stretching, the water was hot, food was done, and Iona sat down to quiz her thane after handing over plates of steaming scrambled eggs and seared fish. Laure spent the next hour scrubbing, eating, and deflecting as many of Iona's questions as possible. She left Lydia with Iona at the house, then headed across town to the entrance of the Guild, tucked in the graveyard.

Once down below, she sauntered over to the desk she shared with Bryn, checked the chest in front and pocketed her share of the monthly take, which was significant after being away so long- which was fine by her; this was going to be an expensive trip. She walked around, chatting lightly with several of the thieves before heading to the Flagon.

She was greeted with happy calls and shouts from the few people up at this hour and already drinking or breaking their fasts. Sitting at a table with Delvin was Brynjolf, looking the same as always, knowing grin curled across his lips. He still looked thin, but he met her eye and smiled, indicating a seat next to him. She slid in after giving him a long, tight squeeze.

"How are you? I...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been avoiding coming back. It was thoughtless of me to leave you here with all of this." She smiled sadly, fingers tangled in her lap. Vekel brought her her a shot of whiskey and a foaming tankard of dark bitter ale.

"We've been well, things are running smoothly enough. The war cuts into some profits, but we're making a killing off other areas of interest, so it balances out nicely in the books. Other than that, it's the same game as always. People come and go, do jobs, get caught and released-or not. Maven rides our case about everything she conceivably can, and we all appease her as much as possible." He watched as she tossed back the whiskey and chased it with half the ale.

Delvin quietly excused himself, patting her shoulder as he moved off, leaving her and Bryn alone.

"So it sounds as though you've been busy," Bryn commented. "If half the tales are true, you've slain more than your fair share of dragons lately. I'm glad to see you're well. Care to tell me about it?"

She wasn't in the mood to gossip, but it was so nice to hear his voice again, see him smiling, she couldn't help herself. She may not be in love with Bryn, but she still loved him intensely, and their estrangement had hurt her more than she wanted to admit. She cautiously began filling him in, telling him of some of her adventures with the Companions, trying to be respectful and not flaunt her new lover in his face. She knew he wasn't stupid and would know she wasn't telling him everything, but she wasn't sure he would want to hear her gushing about Vilkas the entire time. This _was_ the first time they'd spoken since she had rushed out just over three months ago.

Just chatting with him felt good, and she realized she needed to feel like she could come back to him at any time and still feel welcome and accepted. His warm voice helped strip away the awkwardness, and before she knew it they were bullshitting like they always had.

"Well," he announced as he poured the last of a flagon of wine into their cups, "it's quite a tale you tell. A part of me hoped this crisis with the dragons would be quickly resolved and you would be back with us all the time, but it seems you are doing well and still managing to find some happiness in spite of everything, so I'm happy for you too, lass."

"That means so much, thank you."

"I mean it. You know, it almost makes me wish I could have seen some of these things with you." He smiled softly.

"Bryn, most of those adventures were being dragged through horrible weather, fraught with danger, sleepless and thankless. I could never pull you away from the Cistern and dump you into the mud and fire. There have been fun times aye, but many, many times where I wasn't sure how the fuck I was going to survive. It wouldn't be fair to you, and I don't think you would have liked it very much."

"Laurelin Vo'Shai, you never asked me if I wanted to come. You assumed I wouldn't want to go hunting or treasure seeking."

"You wanted to come hunting with me? All those years?"

He glanced down into his curiously empty cup, and swallowed before answering quietly, "I would have gone to Oblivion with you, had you but asked."

Her pale eyes blinked slowly. "Oh," she bit her lip to keep it from quivering, overwhelmed for a moment. To think he had felt that kind of devotion and she had let it go._ Am I a fool?_ "I can't express how sorry I am. I should never have assumed." _Gods, are we talking about hunting or our relationship now? Both, so damnably tangled together..._

"We all make mistakes, lass. You assumed I didn't want to be a part of your life. Truthfully, I never asked to go hunting with you because you seemed content out on your solo forays into the mountains. You'd come back invigorated, focused, horny. And I enjoyed being home for you to come back to."

"I loved coming back to you."

Bryn leaned over the table and uncurled her knotted fingers, and brought them softly to his lips. "I should have said it."

"That you wanted to go hunting or on the road with me?"

"I love you."

"Oh." _Fantastic, now I'm repeating myself. And it isn't even witty! Oh? Say something else, stupid mer!_ "I knew. You didn't need to tell me you loved me. It was in every kiss and every pretty you stole for me. I was scared to let you in, though. I wasn't fair to you."

"Fortunately for me, I was able to finally open that lock. And I don't regret the time we had together, not one moment."

"I feel the same. I needed you and I didn't even know it. The world probably owes _you_ the greatest debt of all. If I hadn't met you, well, I could very well still be hiding out somewhere avoiding life. And the World Eater would remain unchallenged."

"How's the crowding in your head? You were worried before that the souls you absorbed would become too much."

"That isn't actually much of a problem. I thought they would fight me, but their essences survive through me, so they end up being more helpful than I thought. Turns out many of them feel betrayed by Alduin."

"Are you seeking a way to defeat him?"

"Aye, that's actually why I'm here. I need a disguise and some paperwork as well as goods suitable for my story."

"Tell me what you need."

"All the usual. Clothing, money, forged contracts, letters of recommendation and credit. I'm thinking I will be an antiquities dealer, looking to expand my market to Skyrim, so I'll need some random artifacts and weapons perhaps. I need to go speak to Galathil about the rest of my disguise."

"Where on Nirn are you going that is so deep you need _her_ services?" Alarm was now painted clearly over his face, eyes wide.

"I can't tell you. If word got out that the Guild was in any way involved in what I'm about to do, you'd all be dead. That deep, and that's all you need to know for now," she said without a glimmer of humor.

"I'll take your word for it then. I'll start seeing to the incidentals while you take care of the other matters. See you soon, lass." He moved off toward the Cistern, while she took a short walk over to a robed and hooded Bosmer woman reading on a bench by the pool.

The other woman finally looked up from her book. "Good day Guildmaster. How may I serve you today?"

"I need a bit of a change. Think you can manage it?"

"Manage it!" Galathil cried in indignation. "I should think I've proved myself over the past few years as being able to 'manage' the miracles I perform. Well, what is it you need this time?" Laure led her into the far back room of the Flagon before revealing what she wanted.

"Simple enough. Why the secrecy for such small modifications?" sniffed the other Bosmer woman in irritation.

"I want as few people to know and to see this as possible. I warn you, if my description is leaked, your safety can not be guaranteed. Understand?"

The Face Sculptor, as she was called, gulped and nodded. "Shall we begin, then?"

* * *

Bryn found them a short time later as Laurelin was admiring her new look in a mirror. "Nicely done. No one will recognize you like that. Here is everything you need for now; the rest will be waiting for you upstairs behind the shrine."

"Good. I should be back in a week or so to get this switched back, so I'll let you know how it goes then." She set the mirror down and handed over a heavy sack of gold and gems to Galathil. "Your fee, but I would appreciate it if we came to say, an agreement on your fee for changing my face back."

"What sort of agreement did you have in mind? I certainly don't give away my services for free. I'm not a common beggar, you know."

"Oh, I know. And as you aren't a beggar, nor have you deigned to lower your prices for the Guild that shelters you, nor joined the Guild, but remain in our tavern day and night without paying rent or tithes..."

"You would charge rent from a sister Bosmer? A-a refugee cast out from home and station by cruel cha-"

"You just charged a sister Bosmer a small fortune for your services. Don't try that with me; this is business."

"Very well, I suppose I can return your face to its former blandness for free. And good luck; it seems you'll need it."

"Nocturnal watches over us all; perhaps she'll favor me one more time. Thank you for your help."

"It was no trouble. Come back to me if you ever have a _real_ challenge for my skills." With that, Galathil stood and walked off, tucking her payment into a large satchel.

Bryn and Laure watched her go, suppressing the smirks and giggles until they were sure she was clear. Stifling the giggles in sleeves, they shook their heads and began sorting through the items Bryn had gathered for her. It was all there, a change of clothes or two, letters, maps, lists, false mercantile documents, letters of credit, and at the bottom of the pile one last surprise.

"Oh!" she murmured once more, in delighted surprise. She pulled the hood of her Nightingale armor up and pressed it to her face, over her eyes. Tears threatened to spill past her lashes but the dark cloth wicked them away. "I thought this was done for after that dragon we fought!" she mumbled through the hood.

"Nope. Karliah and I had Arnskar Ember-Master take a look at it. Void salts, leather, and some time and it's good as new. Or at least I hope it is. You've grown a bit since you last wore it." She popped up from her seat and began tugging off her clothes, eager to see if it would fit. Bryn hastily turned away, looking to the door.

"Not interested in the goods anymore?" she teased, realizing she could have started stripping at a more private location, one that didn't leave poor Bryn staring into the hallway.

"Oh, it's not that. Many a night I've wondered about what it would have been like if I'd taken you in my arms after you showed me that one thing and told me about your lover - and what might have happened if I didn't act like a complete ass and let you walk out like you did. I regretted it as soon as you were gone. They all thought you might be dead; I sent a few of the lads after you and they brought back your Guild armor in shreds. I could only hope you had simply ripped it off. I didn't tell them..." he trailed off, caught a glimpse of her standing quietly, half in her Nightingale armor.

"I'm sorry to have put you all through that."

"Apology accepted. You've been going through quite a bit; it wasn't fair of me to react the way I did." Abruptly, he chuckled and added, "Perhaps I was upset that for the first time ever you were tall enough to kiss without me sitting on the floor, or you standing on a chair, and then you ran off with another man. I didn't ever get a chance to appreciate the new curves."

"What are you talking about? You always just picked me up anyway. Also I'm built the same way, just taller now." Somehow it made so many things better, just hearing him make cracks about her height.

"Ah but some things look a bit _fuller_. Rounder, you might say."

"And here I thought you liked it when people mistook me for your daughter and I called you 'Papa'. Was I wrong?" She had finished pulling on her armor now and was buckling her boots, grinning up at Bryn.

"Careful now, I'm still a man, and if you insist on dirty talk like tha-"

"Papa?"

"Woman, I should turn you over my knee right-" he trailed off when he saw her standing tall and proud in her beautiful, light-drinking armor. The hood was pulled up over her head, mask up, concealing her new features, but the posture was all hers.

"Fits like a glove," came her slightly muffled comment.

"It always did. Why do you think I was always trailing behind?"

"Pervert." Her shadowed eyes sparkled in the torchlight. "Thank you, I can't say it enough. I should get going though; I have a long road ahead of me."

"You always do, lass. Nocturnal watch over you."

"You know me; eyes open."

"Walk with shadows." He held the door into the cistern open and she slipped through, satchel under the short cloak of her armor. In a blink, she disappeared entirely. Thinking she was gone, Bryn sighed. When he felt invisible lips press to his cheek he started slightly, but the smile that followed her real departure stayed with him for the rest of the day.

* * *

Laure sat at a small table, looking out the window overlooking the amphitheater behind the Bards College. A stone urn with a snowberry bush was the sole ornament on the porch. She had sent Lydia ahead to the house; she herself had checked in at the Winking Skeever in her new guise, had a brief chat with her contact Malborn, and then decided to take in the "night air" as she took a walk about the city. She took a moment to enjoy the quiet, then stood and slipped in the side door.

Vilkas was sitting near the fireplace, reading, hair falling into his eyes. He glanced over at her and smiled. "I wondered when you were going to come in. Welcome back." He pushed out of his seat and made straight for her, enveloping her in a tight hug. When he had let his lips wander softly over hers for a time, he took her hand and led her over to the dining and cooking area, where it was warm and bright.

"You're not going to say anything about my face?"

"Well you said you were going to Riften for a disguise. I see you weren't just thinking about something simple, were you?" It wasn't easy but he was pushing down the uneasiness he felt in his gut when magic touched his life.

"Nope. No one should ever associate the Dragonborn with the spy who broke into the Thalmor Embassy. To further the misdirection, I won't see you until this is over. The party is in two days. I'm staying at the inn under the guise I picked out. Now I just wait. I should be able to handle another few days without you, with this face. I have a few hours I suppose before my absence from the inn might be noticed..."

"Would you like to see the rest of the house? It still isn't completely done, but we have most of the basics now. And the housecarl arrived yesterday; her name is Jordis."

She interrupted before he could continue. "Where's our bed? Why pass up an opportunity to tumble a woman who looks like a perfect stranger? A stranger who knows intimately how you like to be touched and kissed." It was strange, her voice and expressions on a face so different. Her hair was now a warm chestnut color, flowing over her shoulders in a long, smooth wave. Her pale eyes were closer together and a golden amber color. Her nose had been thinned, and now had the slightest hook to it. Her high cheekbones had narrowed, and even the shape of her lips was subtly different. But her scent was the same. That was what had alerted him in the first place.

He kissed her hard, teeth biting her lip, soothing her tiny cry of surprise away as he trailed his lips over her jaw and up her ear. She shook in his arms and pressed against him. Her scent filled his nose, mouthwatering and sweet. Her lips were parted, and for all that her new nut-colored skin was many shades darker than her natural color, he could see the flush of color creeping across her neck and cheeks.

"I don't care what you look like, love. Now, let's go find a bag to put over your head," he joked and fended off the slap he knew was forthcoming.

* * *

_Greetings lovely readers! I would like to apologize for the tardiness of my updates. It's high summer here in California, and sometimes it's so hot I get sick-all that lovely northern European blood makes me wilt in high temperatures. Consequently, the last thing I want is to roast my lap with my computer while my fingers suction together from the sweat. I will try to keep up the posts and not lag, but I make no promises. Thank you all for your continuing support, faves, follows, reviews, and mostly your time. Cheers! ~PyreIris~_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve - Pushing Forward**

Laure shifted slightly, moving slowly so as to not reveal her position. Uneasiness started to creep into her mind. Delphine was late; she should have been waiting here when Laure arrived. Sunset was approaching, and she had no desire to linger in the vicinity any longer than strictly needed. The embassy was sure to be swarming with angry Thalmor right now, all on the lookout for a certain antiques dealer from Cyrodiil. By now they would realize that had been a front, but investigation would lead to a maze of false fronts and dead ends. Not that she resembled that woman anymore, at least on the surface

Her now raven hair was braided and twisted, wound with feathers and beads of bird bone; dark green twists of warpaint curled over her face, and her Nightingale armor was securely tucked away, replaced with a sleeveless, hooded leather vest trimmed with fur. Fur-lined suede pants were tucked into tall leather boots. She looked every bit the Bosmer trapper, but _any_ Wood Elf in the area would be subject to close scrutiny for a while to come.

The documents she had hidden on her person seemed to burn with a low, insistent heat, reminding her yet again how urgently she wanted to get rid of them. She watched another shift change in the guard; the regional carriage driver urged his horse up the hill and past the tiny farm Laurelin was concealed above. She knew her mate was quietly patrolling the surrounding area and had spent hours during the party laying down false trails to confuse those who were sure to be looking for her.

While she waited, Laure examined the small bone she had broken off the last dragon she had defeated. Emerging from the cave network that had provided her escape from the Thalmor Embassy, she had been flitting quietly down the hill with Malborn and a thief she'd freed, when the strident roar of the _dovah_ sounded overhead. Etienne, the thief was a man she was vaguely familiar with, his work often keeping him in the field far from Riften. His relief at being rescued was prodigious; he couldn't say how long he had been captive, but it had been a long time since anyone had heard from him. She had given them each some gold and a weapon then, ordered the two men to get down the mountainside before the dragon's presence brought Thalmor mages down on them all as well.

She had led the monster on a merry chase, drawing it farther from Solitude before battling it on the northern shore of the sea. It was just her luck that after successfully escaping the embassy, a dragon had appeared to mark her out. Drawing it away to fight had been the only prudent thing she could do; she wanted as few people knowing the Dragonborn had been in the vicinity of the embassy at the time of the break in as possible.

She twirled the little bone between her fingers, wondering why she'd snapped it off the clawed foot in the first place. Perhaps she could have Farkas make a toothpick out of it. Movement on the road below caught her attention, and at last her patience was rewarded. Delphine, dressed as a farmer, sat down near the stables with a heavy sigh and whistled an off-key tune while digging in a tattered satchel.

When the coast was clear, Laure slipped down and around the back of the stables, hiding in the deep shadows. She slipped the packet of documents over the Breton woman's shoulder and they had a brief conversation, both women agreeing that Riften would be the next stop for the tired mer. Delphine thanked Laure and pushed to her feet, moving swiftly down the hill again and disappearing into the twilight. Laure waited a while longer and watched. No mysterious Thalmor agents appeared to follow.

Slowly moving away from the farm, she hoped Malborn and Etienne had gotten clear of the area already; lingering here was a bad idea. She waited several moments by the tiny fishing boat Vilkas had secreted away for them to use to cross the Karth river. He strolled up a few moments after, and quietly they pushed off, paddling quickly past Solitude and into the marshes.

"Were you successful, my love?" he finally asked in a low voice.

"Aye, in some ways. Are we going far? I'm famished." Now the copies she had made in Elenwen's solar seemed to be burning a line of fire down her back, through the heavy leather of the satchel, through her armor.

"Camp is not far away; Lydia is waiting there. We'll rest a short while, then get moving again if you're up to it."

"Sounds fine by me." They lapsed back into silence while Vilkas rowed them farther inland past small rounded hillocks poking up out of the brackish water. Laure guessed them to be a few miles northeast of Morthal when they pulled the little skiff out of the water and concealed it in the brush lining the shore. Laure could smell the horses not far away and was glad Vilkas had thought to bring them. Soon she and her mate were eating a cold repast of cheese and dried meat while she filled Lydia in on the next stage of the journey. Vilkas would return to Solitude for a few days, complete the "furnishing" of Proudspire, then make his way home to Whiterun. Meanwhile, Laure and Lydia would be riding swiftly to Riften. It was now imperative that she get her face returned to its original features, as well as to locate a man the Thalmor eagerly sought themselves.

Laure thought she had an idea where to find this man, but if it was truly him, it would take all her skills of persuasion to get him to leave the Ratway's lower warrens. There was always the amulet she hardly ever wore. It felt like cheating. Cheating or no, the Amulet of Articulation she had been gifted with years ago might be useful, and it just so happened that a few days ago she had discovered it hidden in a pouch with her Nightingale armor. Bryn had proven once more to be a thoughtful planner; it had been dead useful when chatting up the attendees of Ambassador Elenwen's party.

She and Vilkas rested together a few hours, both tired enough that they just held each other tightly. Lydia kept watch a few hours, then softly called out, "Midnight approaches my thane; do you wish to ride out still?"

"No," came the muffled reply. "I'll be right out, though." Laure and Vilkas soon backed out of their little tent and began bundling it up. When all was packed and loaded, Lydia looked away as her thane kissed her mate goodbye.

Vilkas took both her hands and pressed her fingers to his lips, then pulled her flush up against his body. "Be safe love, and I'll see you soon." He cupped her face and drew her in for one final kiss before relinquishing his hold on her regretfully.

"Never soon enough." Forcing herself to move, Laure pulled away and mounted Roast, turning the mare's head toward Riften, Lydia following right behind. Vilkas watched the two women disappear into the darkness, and when they were finally beyond his hearing and sight, he turned and mounted his own horse, heading slowly back up to Solitude and a big empty house.

* * *

Lydia and Laure limped into Honeyside late the next day and headed straight for the kitchens, dropping armor and satchels along the way. Iona ran to the market to fetch a few more bottles of mead, fresh cheese and meat, while the other two women cleaned up and foraged.

Before long they were scrubbed, fed, and had changed clothes. Laure sent Iona down into the Ratway, bearing a message to Bryn. The tall Bosmer planned on waiting until dark to head down to the Flagon but wanted to warn Bryn about a few details before she made her way down. When Iona returned shortly after, her wide eyes and set jaw alerted Laure something was wrong.

"My thane, Bryn says to get your arse down there as soon as possible – a whole group of Thalmor have been wandering the Ratway for hours looking for someone."

"Fuck me sideways, how did they get here so bleeding fast? Lydia, stay here with Iona. I'll be back later. If not, tell Vilkas I love him, and Breezehome is yours. Same to you Iona; Honeyside is yours if I don't come back." With that, Laure donned a hooded cloak and slipped out the front door. Iona and Lydia sat down at the table to wait anxiously for the return of the woman they had both sworn to protect.

Laure slid through the long shadows of late afternoon, moving silently and undetected by everyone. Before long she was splashing down the short tunnel to the ladder dropping into the cistern, stopping to listen carefully, but all she heard was an ominous silence. Descending, she discovered the entire place empty. She crossed to the shrine of Nocturnal and hastily said a few prayers, feeling the warm tingling of her mistress's blessings wash over her. She dashed to the door into the Flagon, took a deep breath and pulled it open slightly, letting a faint breeze through. Sure enough, the scent of the agents sent by the Aldmeri Dominion was heavy on the air. Stealthily she crept through and peeked into the underground tavern. The members of her guild were all there, some pacing, some drinking, others staring at the two portals leading out. There was no immediate sign of the tall, golden-skinned mer, so she edged out, slipped around a few of her friends and made directly for Galathil.

A few hushed spoken words, and the Bosmer women moved deeper into the shadows of the back room. Bryn joined a few seconds later and they had a hushed conference while Galathil swiftly went about returning Laure's face to it's original features.

Bryn was livid. He didn't like it when intruders came into the domain of the thieves and started making trouble. And the Thalmor were trouble in the highest degree. "What in Oblivion is going on here, lass? Two hours ago a dozen of the snooty bastards barged in here, asking questions, making threats. Are they after _you_?

"Yes and no. They're after the crazy guy who lives down in the lower warrens, you know the paranoid one who comes up once a month for supplies. They want him because they think he might know who is responsible for the dragons coming back."

"Ridiculous, what would that codger know about dragons?"

"Apparently he wasn't always a crazy codger. Have they found him yet? It's crucial that I get to him and get him out of here."

"No, I sent them to investigate a few of the disused tunnels and warrens. Go now, take a few of the lads and I'll try to keep them off your arse." Galathil finished her task and stepped back, producing a mirror. Laure glanced in and saw her old face staring back at her.

"Excellent, thank you. Here, for your silence." Laure dropped and small pouch filled with diamonds into the other woman's hand. Then she stood on tip-toe and let her lips brush Bryn's for an instant. "Thank you, as well. Can you have Iona send Lydia out to Nightingale Hall with the horses and our gear? We'll need to ride as soon as we get this loon out. If I can."

"Of course, anything else?"

"Just keep them busy long enough for me to get clear."

"My pleasure. Send word soon, so we don't worry ourselves sick."

"I will; keep you and the lads safe, aye?"

"Always do lass, always do. Go on, get."

Laure ducked away and headed deeper into the Ratway, grabbing Rune, and Cynric, and Ravyn Imyan, the Dunmer former member of the Morag Tong assassins guild. They spread out in front of her, searching and clearing each tunnel. It was sweet, she thought, but unnecessary. Her wolf senses, Nightingale abilities and Thu'um gave her clear advantages. Still, they wanted to feel useful and involved, and it was a relief to know she had someone looking out for her. They avoided several patrols of Thalmor, moving deeper and deeper, until Laure knew they were approaching the area the man lived.

Finally tapping on the solid door, she called out softly, "Esbern, I need to talk to you; please a moment of your time?" Part of her was amused that the crazy hermit she had known of for years was the very man Delphine and the Thalmor sought. He was a paranoid old recluse, known only to a few who saw him when he made infrequent forays up to the Flagon for supplies. He would listen eagerly to any news offered but never gave any information about himself. After he gathered his goods, he disappeared for another cycle of the moons. How he supported himself, Laure didn't want to know.

She glanced over her shoulder. She had left the lads hidden nearby to keep lookout, but she hoped to be in and out in a few moments. What followed in actuality was a teeth-grinding exercise in patience for her. He finally slid open a small viewing hole and examined her closely, petulantly asking, "What do you want? I paid my rents."

"You are Esbern?"

"No, I've never heard of this Esbern. Leave me alone." He moved to close the tiny window but Laure stopped him.

"Esbern, Delphine sent me. You are in dire peril, and we need to get you out of here right away; there are Thalmor looking for you this very moment!"

"Thalmor? Delphine? Who are you? Why did you lead them to me? Leave me be! Oh this is terrible!"

"Listen to me, Delphine just found out you are alive and asked me to come get you. We need your help; she says you know all about dragons and Alduin. I can explain the rest once we'reout of here!"

The old man blinked and coughed a little. "Alduin, did you say? How do you know this name?"

"I've been fighting dragons for a while now. I'm the Dragonborn, Esbern, and we need to get you out of here before the Thalmor. Will you please come with me, and I'll take you to Delphine?"

"How do I know you aren't an agent of the Thalmor sent to lure me out of my home?"

"Delphine told me to ask, "Where were you on the thirtieth of Frostfall?" Laure watched his face contort through a range of emotion as he choked back an exclamation. Suddenly it hardened and the daft, wandering expression he'd worn before was gone, replaced by determination. The tiny window closed, and then began the minutes-long ordeal of him unbolting and unchaining the numerous locks that kept him secure. His rambling, heard clearly through the door thanks to her wolfish senses, did little however to reassure her this man was sane. Finally she was being hurried through the door into a single "L" shaped room, accessed only through the reinforced door she had just come through. While Esbern hastily relocked himself in, she took it all in, noting his desk, covered with books and parchments, the unused-looking bed, years of journals, and random bits of scholarly refuse. She hoped he didn't need to pack it all up.

He turned immediately to his desk and pushed a few tomes and papers into his satchel, locked everything else up in a small chest, and grabbed a staff and a hooded cloak while he rambled on. "I've spent years trying to warn people that Alduin would return, but I was ridiculed and mocked. Sadly, I now wish I had been wrong. Perhaps we might still turn things around. Delphine, still alive! Let us go, I need to speak with her immediately." They quietly undid the locks and bolts once more. Laure slipped out first, subtly sniffing. The Thalmor were closer and moving swiftly now.

Her lads were already moving, one of them splashing loudly away in the other direction she had told them she would take to get out. Several agents pursued, but Laure didn't worry. The Thalmor were unfamiliar with the sewers, and her Guild mates all knew these fetid, stinking tunnels better than their own mothers. Not to mention they were all regularly equipped with potions of invisibility, paralysis and sleep poisons, illusion spells and dozens of secret bolt-holes. They would draw as many of the intruding Thalmor agents away as possible, then go to ground for a while in any number of safe houses set up around town and through the docks and sewers.

Laure moved swiftly, taking them up to an infrequently used hole in the ceiling, and boosted Esbern up. When he had scrambled up, she nimbly scampered up after; then they set off once more. Several times they did this, avoiding another patrol by a painfully narrow margin. Several times Laurelin used the skeevers that lurked here and there as diversions, sending small packs of them up to ambush and distract groups of Thalmor that were too close. Finally they stood at the back door leading into the Flagon, but Laure didn't push through.

Esbern moved to open it, but her arm shot out, barring the way. "Sshh, they are in there questioning some of the lads. This way." She led him a short distance away, then gave him another boost up.

"What place is this?"

"The secret entrance to the old Guildmaster's house. Follow me closely; there are traps."

* * *

"Two double brandies please."

"Where's your man?" Orgnar wanted to know as he poured Laurelin's drinks.

"On his way, he should be here soon. How's business?"

"Same as it always is. Who's that with Delphine?"

"An old friend of hers. Thanks," she replied as her brandy was slid over the counter. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Delphine and Esbern embrace for a moment then move closer to the fire, heads close together as they talked quietly. Soon the two former Blades and the Dragonborn were in conference downstairs. Vilkas came down a short time later and leaned against the wall near Laure, quietly listening to Esbern.

At one point in the long discussion, Vilkas slipped upstairs and came back with a tray of food for Laure and himself, and they snacked while asking all the questions they could. By now they were discussing where to go next. Laure was only marginally dismayed that they needed to delve deep into Forsworn territory, over in the Reach. It felt good to finally be getting a few leads and not feel as though she was fumbling about in the dark – with a blindfold on, no less. The tray was empty, and so was Laure's store of ready questions.

Laure and Vilkas left after agreeing to meet Delphine and Esbern in the Reach in a week, leaving the two old friends chatting downstairs. They mounted their horses and cantered toward Whiterun.

"It's good to see you again. With your old face. Rather, with your usual features. I'm glad you changed it back."

_Awww, love, you sounded so much like Farkas there!_ "Hmm, I like my face this way; I'm in no hurry to permanently alter it." She lapsed into silence for a few moments, thinking. "Are you tired of being dragged all over Skyrim with me, love?" she finally asked as they wound their way down and onto the plain.

"Never. Why do you ask?"

"I realized this week that the assumptions I sometimes make on behalf of other people aren't always in line with what they want or think. And I'm not always the only one who suffers for it."

"If I ever need a rest from it all, I will tell you, never fear. I love being with you; everywhere you go, I would follow, if you but allow it." He paused a moment then cautiously asked, "Where you able to resolve things with Brynjolf?"

"Aye, I was. He needed time to adjust, and when we talked, I realized that I held him at arms length for both our sake—or so I thought. As it turns out, it was just for mine."

"From what you told me of the nature of your relationship, he had no reason to expect what he did."

"I don't think it was an expectation really. He had every reason to believe I would always be there, and I never tried to disabuse him of the notion. In truth, I thought I would stay longer, up until Alduin attacked Helgen. Even after, I kept thinking somehow I might be able to juggle it all."

"Do you really like being a thief so much?"

"It has its moments. I love the game. In many ways, it's like hunting. Know your quarry, stalk it; sometimes we played such long cons they were months and months in the making, and we had to be so very patient and discrete. Setting up contacts, who can you trust, did we pay them enough? There is an undeniable thrill that comes when a job is successful and payday comes. It's just-it's a high that reminds me of first blood on a kill."

Vilkas listened to her as she spoke, watched her out of the corner of his eye, the way her eyes sparkled with excitement, realized she truly did love her other profession, and if she devoted as much energy to her abilities as a thief as she did as a warrior, always seeking excellence, she must be a remarkable thief. He had seen the way she skillfully teased even the most complex locks open; she looked right at home, with one ear cocked toward the chest or door she was working on, eyes half closed as she used slow, tiny movements to tickle it open. She almost never triggered traps, seemed to sense precisely where one would be, and she would either disarm it or carefully guide them safely past.

"You are an exceptional hunter; why start thieving in the first place?"

"As much as I would like to tell you I only did it to survive, that wouldn't be the truth. The first time I stole something, I was pissed. To get back at someone, I stole something from his cart later. The fear of being caught, the thrill of getting one over on a complete ass and not getting caught-it was fun. Sorry it's not more noble."

"How can you be so flip when speaking about robbing people of their valuables? There is no honor in it," he gritted out through barely parted lips.

"Vilkas, I don't expect you to know the inner workings of the Guild, but we regulate our members. Targets are carefully selected, we don't rob any poor folk-frankly it isn't worth the time and risk of being caught. Even before I became the head of the Guild, we tried to make sure the hit was quiet, quick and clean. To shed blood on a job was and still _is_ cause for severe punishment, unless we receive specific permission to defend ourselves. Rogue thieves who don't hold to our code are hunted down and eliminated. It may sound cut-throat, and in some ways it was, I won't lie. But like I said, we are careful, and believe it or not, much of the information we steal ends up benefiting the whole of Skyrim. I wish you could understand it's different now."

"I find that hard to believe. You paint a pretty enough picture, honorable thieves, but the Guild still seems hardly better than the bandits we eliminate."

"Which would you rather lose, your purse or your life? Thieves of the Guild will gladly relieve you of one if you are dense enough to wave it around or take on airs of superiority. But we leave you with your life, as long as you realize the value of that. None of us want to kill you, but like any cornered animal, man and Mer will all fight for their life if forced. I don't see how stealing a man's gold is worse than taking his life, which is what you and I do. Yes, they are bad people. Or maybe more of them are like Keiran. Hopeless, misguided, feeling like there was nothing else left..."

"What are you getting at?" Vilkas exclaimed in desperate frustration, raking his fingers irritably through his hair.

"Damn it! I don't know; perhaps you shouldn't judge all thieves the same. It's much like saying all Nords are giant, mead-swilling brawlers with no brains. Or all Mer are um, well I guess all the Mer are pretty different. You understand what my point is, I'm sure."

"I do. It doesn't mean I agree, but can we finish this later? We're almost home, and I have no wish to argue with you."

"Of course. What should we do for supper, I could eat a whole deer right now."

"Farkas and everyone else would love to see you; it's been a while. If you're up for it, that is."

"Sounds wonderful. Lydia made it back safely, I take it."

"Safe and muttering about being made into a pack mule."

"Well, I figure it's time to move a few of my things from Riften. Whiterun is where my home usually is."

"Usually?" he quirked an eyebrow up curiously.

"Well, there's that old saying that home is where the heart is; and my heart is with you, you're from Whiterun, and it's where you usually are, so that's where my home usually is-"

"Sometimes you are completely ridiculous."

"You love me for it though."

"Among other things. You are a perplexing creature, and I'm sure if I lived to be one hundred and fifty years old, I could never say I always understood you. Now, lets get our arses up to Jorrvaskr before that giant brother of mine eats everything, shall we?" They walked up through Whiterun hand in hand, steps falling rhythmically together, Vilkas listening while Laure discussed a collection of rare books she had heard was on the market. He felt hopeful when she mentioned hoping to bring the dealers price down. At least she was planning to pay for them. Small comfort, but he would take it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen - Lessons From The Master**

One mountain to climb after another. First she and Vilkas had trekked deep into the Reach, battling Forsworn at every hilltop. Then as they neared Karthspire, a dragon had swooped down and stirred up yet another huge fight with an unusually well-armed encampment of the regional tribes. Laure and Vilkas had nearly skirted the entire camp, which sprawled over both banks of the Karth river and up across the opposing hillsides, when the fire-breathing Dovah attacked.

Before Laure could say, "Ysmr," lightning and fire were arcing across the long valley, hurled by sorcerers, atronachs, and as it turned out later, Esbern and Delphine. What had been planned as a quiet infiltration was now a full blown battlefield, and the two Companions found themselves right in the thick of it. The dragon strafed overhead, Shouting fire at anyone foolish enough to stand in his way. Laure and Vilkas took cover wherever they could at the time, staying close together, swiftly disemboweling a snarling hagraven, then moving on and up.

They met up with Delphine and Esbern on a tall lookout as the burnt remains of several Forsworn pillagers and raiders smoldered. The dragon had finally landed down below and was being encircled by the scant few tribesmen and women remaining alive. The four above watched with interest as the beast lashed about with its tail, snapping and Shouting long infernos at the tiny figures swarming around. Yet another scantily clad woman with a wildly painted face was snapped up and crunched, her cries cut short.

Laure ended the dragon with a few carefully placed arrows, and when the remaining Forsworn opted to turn around and attack rather than take their lives and run, she shed no tears when she had to cut them down. After that, it had been simple enough to cross the river again, then climb the short trail to the cave network leading to Sky Haven Temple. Once in the temple itself, they were able to find the information they were seeking. Alduin's Wall.

Carved stone told the tale of Alduin's original banishment and gave clues to how he might be defeated again. A Shout that somehow brought Alduin from the skies. Hence her current journey up the Throat of the World to ask the Graybeards what they might know of this Shout.

Arngeir greeted them in the vestibule, "Greetings, Dragonborn. It is an honor to have you here, as always."

"Master Arngeir, thank you for receiving us. Might we refresh ourselves? It is a long journey up."

"Of course, follow me. I trust you found the location of the Word of Power we directed you to?"

"Yes, your advice has been most helpful." She and her mate followed the Graybeard into the modest living quarters of the monks, where they were able to wash and change into dry clothes. Arngeir approached with a wooden tray covered with sliced cheese, dried fruits, a steaming stew.

"I suspect you aren't here for simple conversation; may I ask what brings you on the long trek up to High Hrothgar?"

"As you know, I have been seeking a way to defeat Alduin. Recently I was told there might be a Shout that was used when he was originally banished. A Shout that made him vulnerable somehow."

Laurelin had become somewhat accustomed to the shortness of the monks. They rarely spoke, and every word was measured and meaningful. So when Arngeir spluttered angrily, she was taken aback.

"Where did you learn of this...who taught you of this?"

"It was carved into Alduin's Wall in an Akaviri temple. I was made to understand you might know of this Shout."

"You've been contacted by the Blades, have you not? They always interfere in matters they know nothing of-"

"They are helping me learn how to defeat Alduin. I don't see that as interfering. Will you teach me this Shout?" Eating was suddenly forgotten, lost to frustration and sudden anxiety.

"This Shout was used once before, to what end? Alduin's role is to bring about the end of the world. Perhaps it is time to let it die, and be reborn."

"I don't believe that. If for no other reason than whatever latent power I had before has awakened. The Gods want this world to have a chance; why else send the tool to defeat Alduin? The Gods _want us to care_. To fight back. When we have stopped caring and living, when the fight is all gone from our spirits, then let Alduin have his end. But not now, nor any time soon I hope."

Arngeir looked as though he was going to object, but the earnest, determined looked on the Dragonborn's face made him pause. What she said had merit, but he was still reluctant to share what he knew. "Those who used it before only postponed the eventual reckoning, you will only accomplish the same thing in the end. Do you still wish to proceed?"

"Of course. How could I ever rest or feel content, knowing I had walked away from my destiny? If not me, who else? No other Dragonborn has decided to turn up and help. I didn't want to be this, but here I am, more or less of my own free will. Are you willing to help me, or shall I search elsewhere?"

Once more Arngeir tried to avoid directly answering, "Use of this Shout takes you far from the path of wisdom, I don't think you understand how evil it is-"

"**Arngeir. Rek los Dovahkiin, Strundu'ul. Rek fen tinvaak Paarthurnax,**" thundered the voice of Einarth from the doorway. Vilkas and Laure were both wincing in pain as the unexpected fury of the usually silent monk was still echoing in their sensitive ears. Einarth stared pointedly at Arngeir a moment then bowed to Laurelin and moved away.

"Apologies, Dragonborn. Einarth has just reminded me that it is not for me to decide where your path takes you. That choice is yours alone. Now, I don't know the Shout you seek; however, if you will follow me to the courtyard, we will teach you the Words you will need to reach the summit of the Throat of the World so you can confer with our leader, Paarthurnax. Perhaps he can tell you of Dragonrend."

"You have my thanks, Arngeir. I know I ask much. I would not involve you if it wasn't important. And I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who isn't ready for the world to end." She and Vilkas had to slow their excited steps to match the measured pace of the four monks as they all moved outside.

The courtyard was hemmed on one side by the dark stones of High Hrothgar, with the increasingly sheer walls of the Throat rising above. To the other side was a stomach-churning sea of low clouds swirling swiftly past. Unpredictable breaks showed a vista of the lower mountain ranges nearby, the occasional lazy twist of blue and white as the White River flowed by. Everything else was obscured by fog and rain.

Up here though, the rain was snow, driving every which way as the wind whistled and howled, working the cold right into Laure's bones. Thoughtfully pulling a sabre cat pelt from his pack, Vilkas wrapped it around her shoulders and watched as the four monks gathered nearby.

One of them whispered, causing brightly glowing glyphs to appear on the flagstones. Laure studied the three different Words, listening to the dragon souls she had absorbed, but not needing them, as the Greybeards themselves had given her the insights she needed along with the Words. She quietly rolled the Words around in the back of her throat before nodding and pushing her wind-whipped hair out of her eyes again.

"Winds guide you, Dragonborn. Perhaps we will speak more when you return." Leading her to the steps that continued to wind up and around the sharp peak, Arngeir bowed, then watched with mixed feelings as she and her mate edged up to the gale that raged just at the top of the stairs. Her Voice echoed over the courtyard as she Shouted, "**Lok, Vah Koor**!" and the winds dropped away, bringing a strange hush. She glanced over her shoulder and waved before picking her way through the drifts of snow and ice, mate close behind.

When they had passed from sight, Arngeir turned and gave Einarth a reproachful stare. Einarth said nothing, but met the other man's gaze levelly, before bowing and turning back to his devotions.

* * *

Vilkas hoped she had a reason for lugging two dead goats up the last few hundred yards of the slope. They each had a still warm but rapidly cooling carcass thrown over their back. She had used her new Shout repeatedly while they made the long ascent into the bitter cold of the highest elevations, clearing away the worst part of the weather, if not exactly warming them.

Eyes on the tracks she made as she climbed and scrambled the last few yards before a relatively level shelf of stone just below the summit, Vilkas at first didn't notice the shadow that drifted over, only belatedly hearing the booming creak of vast leather wings pumping slowly. He moved to drop his burden and noted his mate staring up with a small smile on her face, pivoting to watch the huge dragon circle overhead, she didn't seem surprised to find a dragon up here, and so he reasoned, "This _must_ be Paarthurnax," as the great creature landed with a jarring thud.

The dragon's massive head turned their way, and his deep, resonant voice penetrated the awe the two Companions felt. "_Drem Yol Lok_. Greetings, _wunduniik_. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my _strunmah_ ... my mountain?"

Laure dropped the goat over her shoulders and straightened up, gazing with some trepidation at the huge dragon looming overhead. "I am Laurelin. The Graybeards sent me up to learn from you, if you will teach me."

"_Drem_. Patience. There are formalities that must be observed at the first meeting of two of the _dov_. By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones. Match it if you are _Dovahkiin_!" He shuffled his huge bulk around, massive tail whistling through the air over Laure and Vilkas' heads, and Shouted a torrent of fire into the curved span of a Word Wall nearby. When he was done and the steam had drifted away, bright runes glowed on the surface of the Word Wall.

Paarthurnax swiveled his head, saying, "A gift, _Dovahkiin_. Understand fire as the _dov_ do. Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as mortal, but as _dovah_!" He gazed expectantly at Laurelin, who shrugged and strode over to the wall, studying the script carefully. The new word blazed in her mind, _Shul_, shining hot and bright like the sun itself. Stepping back from the wall, Laure prepared to "greet" Paarthurnax, taking a deep breath before pouring out all three words of her Fire Breath Shout.

"**Yol Toor...Shul**!" The flames hit the wall and poured in a curving tumult to spill out around each side of her. Finally the crackling stopped and steam rose swiftly into the cloud cover.

Paarthurnax sounded pleased as he observed, "_Geh, pruzah_. The _dovahsos_, the dragonblood runs hot and strong in you, _Dovahkiin_. Hmm, why do you climb so high? It is not for the pleasure of my...hmm..._tinvaak_. Conversation. What answers do you seek?"

Laure gulped quietly. His long, curved neck arched high above, and all she could see was scales, teeth, and the worn stump of a broken spike jutting from his chin. He was massive, his ancient body scarred, and this was the closest she had been to a live dragon that wasn't actively trying to destroy her. Summoning her courage, she met his reptilian gaze, nearly losing her thoughts as she looked deep into the intelligent eye examining her.

"The Graybeards sent me to you; I must learn a Shout they do not know if I am to defeat Alduin. Can you teach me the Dragonrend Shout, Paarthurnax?"

The mighty dov seemed to scowl a bit as he mulled over his answer. "Hmm. I have been expecting this moment. It has been long since Alduin was banished, but I see he and the Dragonborn return together. Such is the will of Akatosh. _Krosis_, apologies. I confess, I do not know the Shout you speak of. Dragonrend," he growled out the last word, teeth gnashing. "That Shout was not created by any _dov_, but by _joor_, mortal men and women who suffered greatly under the tyranny of Alduin. Into that Shout was channeled all of their rage and sorrow, fueled by hatred of the dov. I was not here to see it used on Alduin ages ago, and those who knew it perished. However, perhaps you may still find what you seek. If you brought a _Kel_, an Elder Scroll, here to the _Tiid-Ahraan_, the Time-Wound where Alduin was defeated and time was injured, perhaps you might be allowed to see back, learn the Words that were used."

Vilkas finally chimed in, disbelief overwhelming the awe for an instant, "An Elder Scroll? Impossible!"

Paarthurnax swiveled his head and perused Vilkas with an unblinking stare, sniffing slightly. "Child of Hircine, few things are impossible. Many are improbable, yet extraordinary things happen every day. You should know this, _bahlaan ahmul, do Fahliil Dovahkiin_. Find the Elder Scroll and bring it here, and then we shall learn what may be learned."

Vilkas was transfixed again, unable to tear his gaze from the scarred face that seemed to drop out of the sky. He was reminded that he was very young, and this dragon was very, very old. He didn't understand most of the dragon tongue, and he decided he needed to get on that lack in his education soon. As quickly as they could get down the mountain. Remaining steadfast though, he encircled his shivering mate in his arms and asked another bold question. "Do you know where we might begin our search for an Elder Scroll?"

"I do not. Ask young Arngeir if he has heard rumor." Laure and Vilkas both smiled at the reference to "young Arngeir." Paarthurnax backed a few huge paces away, then launched himself into the air. With a soft bellow, he circled once, then landed on top of the Word Wall, draping his bulk comfortably over the narrow perch. Laure backed away to ease the angle she needed to crane her neck in order to look up at the behemoth dov.

"Thank you, Paarthurnax. My mate and I brought up some fresh meat that we would like to share, if that is agreeable to you. A small offering of thanks. Now I wish I had brought more." She dragged the goats over to Paarthurnax with Vilkas' help and then backed away.

The great dragon seemed to smile, "_Rek-Ah_, Huntress, I welcome your gift. I will wait until you have descended to enjoy them."

Laure couldn't help herself. Chuckling that a dragon was concerned about its eating habits with her and Vilkas she remarked, "My people are _cannibals_, and he's a werewolf. Don't let us stop you if you would like to enjoy them before they freeze solid."

"You're a werewolf too, moon-sister," muttered Vilkas as he dug in his pack for something to eat, himself. He was reminded that they had left High Hrothgar hours before without eating. He thought he was hungry then. He felt ravenous now.

"He knows that, but the point remains, neither of us are likely to be to sickened if he gulps down two goats. Those things are a bite each. In beast form you and I could eat that much easily."

"Fine, fine, there's just a part of me that screams out when a giant dragon is trying to be courteous; don't deny it that little thing. Call me crazy." They were bickering quietly and in a good-natured fashion as they wrestled with gloves and knots and buckles while holding hunks of cheese in their teeth.

Behind them, Paarthurnax puffed a soft exhalation and roasted the goats in a single breath. Laure and Vilkas were immediately quiet as they glanced over, spying the smoldering goats nearby. They all ate in relative silence after that.

* * *

Vilkas carefully picked his way through the calf high, slushy snow that Laurelin had led them through-a shortcut, she had proclaimed, involving clinging to a sheer cliff face like his mother's breast, while edging along the icy shelf overlooking the tops of a stand of trees nearly directly below. Once past that and thankfully on solid ground again, they waded through brush buried in drifts of wet snow, over a small ridge, and there in the distance was Whiterun, lights blazing in welcome from Dragonsreach. Still high above the vale, the lovers stopped as one to admire the sunset.

With his arms wrapped around her, chin nuzzled in under her ear, Vilkas inhaled her scent and smiled. He would never forget the day his brother went to Winterhold. It was the day he realized he was more interested in a pale, skinny mer than he cared to admit at the time.

She had limped by him, exhausted, to go admire a sunset. Coming to a stop himself, a few paces behind her, he had caught the mingled scent of her and his brother drifting from her hair into his nose. The beast inside had flared with jealousy for an instant, before the man he was quelled it ruthlessly. Just a moment later, she had turned, her profile gloriously lit from behind as the sun slipped further down. Her pale hair had been lifted in the slightest breath of wind that feathered over the plains and glowed palest gold. The ice in her eyes was a bright twinkle in the dusk, her fine features an alluring silhouette. She had turned and given him a brief smile over her shoulder, sharing the moment with him, and him alone. His heart had clenched up tight, made his breath seize up in his lungs until she turned back to the suddenly pale-seeming panorama beyond. Slowly he had released his breath. _What was that all about?_ He remembered thinking in bewilderment. Realizing now he had already been falling in love with Laurelin, and her inner fire, that somehow outshone the setting sun that day.

Yesterday he had watched her chat with a dragon, give it a light snack, then spend all evening communing and meditating with the ancient creature, deepening her understanding of the dragon tongue, while he himself had huddled near the fire, avidly trying to make sense of it all. This morning he had watched and paced anxiously as she scaled the last stretch of ice and stone that separated them from the apex of the entire continent. Scampering on all fours up to the sharp spire that the Throat of the World tapered to, she stood up and Shouted into the wind, pure elation fueling her Thu'um.

Vilkas' heart had jumped to his throat when she slid backward on the icy stone from the force of her Shout. She caught herself and used a hand to hook herself to the pinnacle, looking outward, laughing into the teeth of the bitter-cold air, and seeing little more than wind-blown snow and thunderheads. She caught her breath, then her next Shout sounded a moment later.

"**Lok Vah Koor**!" The panorama that unfolded as the clouds cleared and the sun shone down was breathtaking. Her eyes watered at the sudden brightness of the sun glinting off the snow-clad peaks; he could see her palming tears from her eyes, then staring out again, raptly scanning every way she could, eyes wide.

Behind Vilkas, Paarthurnax had rumbled what could only be hoped to be a chuckle. "She has such fire. Do you believe she is strong enough to destroy Alduin?"

"She is Dragonborn. If she can't, then I don't know who can. Another of your kind perhaps."

"Few of the _dov_ are strong enough to challenge him. The _Dovahkiin_ was given a special gift; none of the true _dov_ may absorb the soul of a fallen rival. She represents the essence and strengths of each dragon she has defeated, distilled into a spirit determined not to fail."

"So _you_ think she has a chance?"

"Extraordinary things happen every day, Companion." They had both lapsed into silence, watching her slide down the rocky slope once more, carrying a pickaxe in one hand. "_Hin fahliil Dovahkiin, fen ag rahgol. Zii drem vokri_. Your elf Dragonborn, she will cleanse the rage, restore peace to your spirit, if you but ask." That had certainly given him much to think about on the long journey down.

Today she was in his arms, watching another astonishing sunset paint the heavens. Whiterun was a dusky silhouette against the bold swathes of color in the background. Shivers ran down his spine when he thought of how close he came to letting her slip away. _What if she hadn't kissed me back, that first time in Driftshade Refuge?_ Vilkas liked to think other opportunities would have risen, but he was glad he had taken that initiative when he had it. When the evening zephyr picked up, they started themselves down again, hoping to pick their way to the road before full dusk.

They would have a few days to rest and take care of whatever business may have piled up while they were gone, then they were bound for Winterhold. Master Arngeir had indicated they should begin their search for an Elder Scroll at the mage's college north of Windhelm. A few days of relative inactivity before they were on the road again in search of _improbable_ answers.

* * *

Spare time. Laurelin vaguely remembered what that meant. Once upon a time, not so very long ago, she had been the very epitome of indolent. Granted she had run her skinny ass from one end of the province to the other, north to south, Markarth to Winterhold. She had run, hidden in shadows, lied, picked pockets, and stolen countless bits of treasure and information. The payoff had been a few short years of languid rolling in wealth. Modestly done of course; it would never do to have too many notice your prosperity. She had liked to keep a relatively low profile.

That was all blown to bloody fucking Oblivion now. Letters arrived from all over the province, all begging for assistance from the Companions, but more specifically, the Dragonborn. Word was spreading, and she struggled to winnow her way through the small matters that didn't truly need her attention, trying to prioritize her list of innumerable places that had legitimate problems she could solve.

Dragons. Everywhere now, they descended, ravaged and terrorized. Days were now filled with rumor and tales of dragons, hunting them down, slaying them, recovering and rebuilding. Soothing bereaved families who had lost loved ones in fiery attacks.

And now Ulfric Stormcloak had sent a letter requesting an audience. She let the parchment slip from her fingers to the desk top.

"May I?" Vilkas' deep voice broke her reverie. She nodded and he opened the letter, scanned it quickly then met her uncertain gaze. He knew she felt conflicted about Ulfric for many reasons, but to decline an invitation written by the Jarl himself was hardly politic. "What will you do?"

"I have no idea. My first impulse is to tell him to find a creative and preferably handcuffed way to fuck himself." Vilkas raised an eyebrow but let her continue. "Yet as much as I would love to say that, I think I have to accept. What does he want?"

"At a guess, you working for him. Whichever side of this pointless war can claim your support will probably win."

"But I don't support either one. The only reason I would support one over the other would be if I had no choice _but_ to choose. Or if I thought it would help, but it won't. Not in the end. The only ones who win in this game are the Thalmor."

"I don't disagree with you, love. It would be pointless to become involved in the conflict-"

"Whose side would you join if you had to choose?"

"I...I couldn't say. I would dearly love to believe Ulfric, to pledge my blade to his cause and have it _mean_ something. The Empire that protected us is weak and blind to its peril. But Skyrim alone can not hope to stand against the Dominion."

"So there really isn't an easy answer. Why does this fall to me as well? I'm not a war leader."

"People will grasp at whatever offers even a slender thread of hope. I'm sure it is assumed that if you can stop dragons, you can stop a war. Or win it."

"Shit. Should we try to fit in a stop in Windhelm before Winterhold, or after?"

"After. We may need to delay an audience if any information we receive is time sensitive. I feel our priority right now is the dragons."

"Precisely what I was thinking. What do you know of Winterhold?"

"Very little, just a bit of history. Recently there have been rumors of magical disturbances and a powerful explosion that rocked Winterhold and threatened to send it into the sea with the rest of the city."

"My sources sent word that the old arch-mage was killed in an experiment overseen by a visiting Thalmor ambassador. The new arch-mage is still trying to piece it all together again. They might not be very keen to have strangers poking about, but I can't think of any other place or person that can put us on the trail of an Elder Scroll." She pulled in a deep breath and leaned back. "We can head out tomorrow or the day after."

"I'm ready whenever you are, love."

Farkas came in a few moments later, something small rolling around in his giant palm. "Finished this for you, sorry it took so long. That stuff is a challenge to work. I think I finally got the hang of it though."

Laure plucked her new dragonbone toothpick from his hand and held the slender thing up, admiring the smooth finish. He had even carefully carved a tiny wolf head into the small grip.

Vilkas rolled his eyes. "All the useful things he could craft for you out of those bones, and you chose a toothpick."

"It amuses me to think I can clean my teeth with the bones of a creature that could pick its teeth with _me_. Thank you, Farkas." She smiled slyly as she tested it out and found it did an admirable job of getting her teeth clean.


End file.
